#i love this fic so bad the newest chapter actually had me pacing from the SHOCK i was AGHAST

[sun-cube]

it's literally 6am dude i could NOT fall asleep after reading @uhohbestie's newest chapter (16) of TAMN are you kidding??

[mysticaldeanvoidhorse]

A Supernatural Love

Chapter 6: A Doctor

Summary:  Y/N, a nurse working towards medical school living with her roommate and best friend Genevieve Cortese, meets Jensen Ackles while visiting the set of Supernatural one day.  Is this chance encounter a coincidence or fate?  And if it is fate, do they have what it takes to make it through separations and hardships?

Slow(ish) burn, some angst, some alluding to sexy times, fluff

Pairings: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Bad writing

Word Count: 1237

No hate to any of the real people in this story, it is purely fiction and for enjoyment! No images are mine

First fic I wrote, please be kind but open to feedback, both positive and negative!

Tag List: @streets-in-paradise @leigh70 @sexyvixen7 @deandreamernp @universallyraylangivens @siospins2 @let-me-luve-you  @lyarr24​ @nancymcl

Tag list open!

Masterlist here

     It had been a few weeks since Olivia told you about the newest hire.  You couldn't believe you hadn't met him yet but you also were pulling a lot of night shifts and it sounded like the hospital wanted to get him comfortable in geriatrics before moving him to your floor.  You mostly worked with pediatrics but your true passion was trauma and every chance you got to work in the ER was great.  You were learning so much and it helped you stay motivated and focused on your goal.

     Gen tried to reason with you about the headline promising she'd figure out the whole story once she got to set Monday, but honestly you were just trying to forget the whole thing.  Forget him, he wasn't worth it.  Just another shallow actor who only was beautiful on the outside.  But deep down you knew you were wrong.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone that focused on charts," you heard a kind voice say next to you that Monday morning. You looked up to see a handsome face in a white coat.

"Oh, I guess I was lost in thought," you respond, trying to look away from the chiseled jawline of the handsome stranger.

"That makes more sense, most people can't wait to get away from paperwork" he responded with a kind smile.  You couldn't help but notice it reminded you of another beautiful smile you were trying to forget.

"I'm James Braddon.  The newest doctor here." He held out his hand.

"I'm Y/N Y/L/N" you responded, taking his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, but I'm surprised we haven't met before.  I've been on this floor for at least a week and I would have remembered meeting you," he gave you a flirtatious smile and you couldn't help feeling pretty good.

"I've been helping cover a lot of night shifts lately.  Ever since three girls quit pretty much at the same time it's been understaffed and it gives me a chance to study." You didn't know why you were sharing so much, you just met the guy but he didn't seem to care. The opposite actually.

"That makes sense.  What are you studying?" He genuinely seemed interested so you told him.

"I'm actually hoping to one day become a doctor myself.  But it's a lot of work and costs a lot so I'm working as a nurse for now but I'm actually enjoying it" you weren't lying though at one point you would have said being a nurse was the worst thing you could have settled for. You had quickly changed your mind; being a nurse was one of the most rewarding things you had ever done.

"Yeah it is pretty challenging but so worth it.  This is my second job as a doctor but I've been loving it ever since my white coat ceremony.  Do you have a specific interest?"

"I've been really enjoying my time in the trauma unit and ER.  I really like the fast paced adrenaline rush you get" you chuckled.  He chuckled too and flashed another beautiful smile.

"I enjoy trauma rounds too.  Nothing can give you a high like having someone's life in your hands.  Maybe I'll see you on rounds there sometime." His pager went off but before he walked away he said, "it was nice meeting you Y/N and if you ever want someone to help you study, you know where I work." He gave you a wink and walked in the direction you assumed he came from and man did you like to watch him leave…

     "Was that James?" Olivia said from behind you.

"Yes it was, I just met him.  He's really nice."

"And cute!" You laughed at her remark.

"Olivia don't forget you're married" you teased.  She just rolled her eyes.

"I may be married but I'm not blind.  And if anyone asks, just blame the hormones." This earned a laugh from you.  You didn't want to tell her how James flirted and said he'd be a study partner because though it was a nice offer, you weren't sure if it was a real one.  You didn't know him well yet and you were still trying to get your mind off another beautifully built man and you didn't need to be distracted by another.

     The rest of the week you didn’t visit the set, opting to take a break for a while to help you clear the intoxicating man out of your system.  Besides, this week brought about a new friend.  James seemed to spend more time at the nurses’ station than he needed to and you were thankful for the company.  He was caring and passionate, characteristics he brought to his professional and personal life.  You quickly became friends and had a lot to talk about.  He wasn’t into all the same movies or as interested in Garth Brooks as you were, but that was okay.  If he was, you would be comparing him to Jensen even more than you already were; a habit you were trying to break.  If you barely knew Jensen, why was it so hard to erase him from your mind?

     “Has he asked you out yet?”  Gen asked once you came home.  Of course you told her about James, you didn’t want to at first but she was your best friend and you didn’t keep secrets.  On top of that it helped her to stop mentioning Jensen.  She had said she heard the story from Jared and that it was a misunderstanding.  Wasn’t it usually?  Jared was his best friend so of course he would do his best to try to make Jensen look the best he could and you didn’t want to hear about it.

“No, and I doubt he will.  He is new and making friends is really important.”  You tried to reason.  Truth was, Jensen or no Jensen, James was a catch.

“So is finding someone to date,”  Gen countered.  “Come on Y/N Jensen or no Jensen James is a great guy.  If you won’t give Jensen a chance you should go for James.  What is the harm in one date?”  She was right.  He was a great guy and you could see yourself falling for someone like him.  He was a doctor, driven, caring, and most importantly right now, he had no drama.  Exactly what you were looking for.  He was someone you feel safe and comfortable with.  Maybe not a passionate love affair, but at least you knew he would treat you right.  And that is all anyone could ask for; more than most ever get.

“Alright Gen, I’ll tell you what.  If we can drop the whole Jensen thing and admit whatever I was feeling was just a silly school girl crush on a celebrity and nothing more, then if James asks me out I will say yes.  Deal?”  You hoped this would appease her.

“We both know there was a spark between you two and it was way more than you are trying to convince yourself of, but for the sake of peace,  I will drop it for now.   But you know you can’t lie to yourself forever.”  She pursed her lips and walked out of the room leaving you on the couch to continue to cuddle with a pillow.  You knew she wouldn’t drop it for good, but she also underestimated how good you can be about lying to yourself.

[nikki-writes-stuff]

Beauty in the Blood - Part One

Summary: One day your friend convinces you to join a dating website that matches people based on their search histories, and when you match with Loki Odinson, a handsome, intelligent coroner who’s a fan of your murder mysteries, you’re absolutely thrilled. But there’s something off about Loki, and as your relationship progresses, you discover that his dark side is even darker than you could ever have imagined... 

Pairing: Serial Killer!Loki x Writer!Reader 

A/N: This story is based off of this post! I hope you guys enjoy; this is my first time writing Loki, and this will probably be the darkest thing I’ve ever written. Please let me know what you think as the story progresses! 

Warning: This chapter contains hints of smut and GRAPHIC descriptions of death and murder. Later on, this fic will also include rape/non con, dub con, kidnapping, yandere/obsessive elements, and even MORE graphic descriptions of death and murder. Please read at your own risk, and as usual, this is only for the eyes of those 18 and older. Thank you, and enjoy!

It was hard to find a decent guy these days. New York was the city of dreamers, artists, and absolute weirdos, and out of the three, you only seemed to attract the latter. You’d been to speed dating events and Singles Night at your local bar, but there was never a connection, never a spark, and every guy seemed to have something fundamentally wrong with him. It wasn’t that you were looking for the perfect guy, it was just that you’d met too many who were demanding, controlling, or misogynistic.  

You’d given up on finding your special someone a year after you’d moved to the city. After all, being single wasn’t too bad. You could do what you want whenever you wanted without having to think about someone else. So what if you didn’t have anyone to kiss on New Years? So what if you cried a little every now and then from feeling so alone? It was fine. It was absolutely fine, you told yourself. Fine, fine, fine…

“I’m absolutely fine, Wanda. I don’t need a boyfriend to be happy.”

You were sat across from your good friend, who was stirring her coffee with one hand while she tapped her fingers against the table with the other. She arched a skeptical eyebrow at you before taking a sip of her drink.

“You’re right; you don’t. But you’re lonely,” she pointed out. “A boyfriend would help with that.”

There was no denying that she was right. Wanda was perceptive, and she was also one of your closest friends. You’d met her during your first week of living in New York, and she’d helped you adjust to living in such a busy, fast-paced place. She probably knew you better than you knew yourself, and that was why you slumped in defeat and threw back the last gulp left of your mimosa.

“God, you’re right,” you bemoaned. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“I know,” she grinned. “But don’t worry; I can help.”

“Wanda, not that I don’t appreciate your effort, but the last guy you sent me out on a date with got mad that I didn’t put out after he paid for my dinner. I don’t want to go on any more blind dates.”

She winced, reaching over to pat the back of your hand.

“I had no idea Kyle was like that,” she promised you. “If I’d known he would be such an asshole you know I wouldn’t have set you up. But I wasn’t going to suggest another blind date.”

You tilted your head to the side.

“What did you have in mind, then?”

She grinned and reached into her purse, fishing around until she found her phone.

“I heard of a new dating app that made me immediately think of you,” she explained excitedly, pulling up the website and passing her device over to you. “It matches you with people in your area based on your Google searches!”

“Pfffft.” You scoffed, taking a quick glance at the screen before looking back to your friend. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard of.”

“I know, I know, it’s a strange concept. But it has one of the highest success ratings out of all the dating websites! It’s only been around for six months, but over half of its users say that they’ve found someone they can see themselves spending the rest of their lives with!”

“Statistics can be made up, you know,” you groused. “Besides, one look at my browser history would send anyone running in the opposite direction.”

“Maybe not someone who has one similar to yours,” she pointed out. “C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Wanda, you know what I do for a living, right? I could match with some kind of serial killer!”

Your friend just waved you off and ordered another coffee, picking up her phone again and stuffing it into her pocket.

“Just try it? Please?” she begged. “Just give it a shot, and if it doesn’t work out, then that’s that, right? No harm done.”

Several hours later, and you found yourself sitting on your couch, staring at the same website homepage that Wanda had shown you. You bit your lip, letting your fingers skim over your laptop’s keys, not typing anything just yet but feeling their ridges as you considered the “Join Now” button.

There wouldn’t be any harm in it, right? Just like Wanda said, if you hated the kind of people you matched with, then you could always delete your profile. And you didn’t only search things for your research, after all; you also googled recipes and cute animal videos. What if you matched with a gorgeous guy who’d also googled “Try Not To Laugh – Kitten Edition”? Hell yeah.

After taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you clicked on the button, making quick work of filling out the ‘About You’ information. Five minutes later, you’d chosen a profile picture and linked your Google account to the website, and you were ready to sift through your matches. The wheel on the screen turned slowly as your computer processed the information, and you actually jolted when it dinged with the results.

Well. Result. There was only one person who’d shown up with a similar search history as you. You let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding, and you almost closed your laptop and went to retreat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s from your fridge, calling it a day and forgetting the whole debacle. But then you saw his profile picture and… Holy shit.

He was lean and pale, and your eyes were immediately drawn to his long, black hair. He had it slicked back in the photo with just one strand hanging down over his left eye. In the photo, he was wearing an exquisitely tailored black suit with a black shirt and tie underneath it, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes trail along the lithe contours of his body. He looked as if he were carved from marble; you almost started drooling just from the sight of him.

You jumped again when your computer dinged for a second time, and your eyes widened when you saw that you had a new message in your inbox. With fingers that were just barely trembling, you opened it, skimming over the message from the man you’d paired with.

Good evening. I must admit, I was quite surprised when I got the notification that we’d matched with one another. I’ve had this profile for about four months, and I’d had yet to be paired with anyone.

So he was handsome and eloquent. You clicked on his profile and blinked when you saw his name. Loki Odinson. Wow. Even his name was refined, if not a little strange; it sounded like a name you’d give to one of the characters in your books.

Hello, Loki, you typed out. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I was pretty surprised to find someone else who has such a twisted search history. I don’t know if I should be happy or concerned.

It only took him a few moments to reply.

The feeling is mutual; I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for the morbidity, though. Mine is that I happen to be a coroner for a living. And yours is…?

I’m a writer, you explained, your interest piqued by his profession. I write murder mysteries. So, yeah… Morbidity seems like a fitting way to describe it.

A writer, you say. I happen to be quite an avid reader; would I know any of your work?

I’m not sure; have you ever heard of The Bell Ringer? That’s probably my most well-known book.

You’re kidding.

He sent you a picture, and it was of a pale hand holding a copy of The Bell Ringer, your name glistening in bold font beneath the title.

I’m a great fan of your work, as you can see. I own several of your novels.

Another photo loaded beneath the newest text, and it was of a shelf full of your books. The Shrew Woman, A Night in New Hampshire, The Hanging Woman – nine books in total. The only one that you’d written that wasn’t there was the one you’d just sent out to your publisher, and you suspected that once it was out in stores, it would be joining the ranks of Loki’s shelf.

Wow! It’s always so nice to meet a reader. I’m so glad you like my stuff!

Oh, love, you’re a huge talent. I must say, I’ve found your work rather inspiring.

That’s so kind of you to say!

I know that this is rather forward, but are you doing anything tonight?

You glanced up at the clock you had hanging on the wall – 8:13 pm. It was already pretty late; typically you’d be putting on your pajamas and curling up in bed to do some late night reading here soon. But something inside of you whispered that you should do it; you weren’t spontaneous enough. What if this was an opportunity to meet the One? At the very least, it would be cool to meet such a loyal reader.

It depends on if this guy I’m talking to online asks me out. Do you think he will?

He would have to be a fool not to. I suspect he’ll ask you if you’d like to meet at a café.

Well, then, I suspect I’ll have to say yes.

An excited grin was plastered over your lips as you bantered back and forth, and when Loki sent you an address and a message saying ‘I’ll see you there in twenty minutes’, you jumped off of your sofa and rushed to put on your shoes. You were still dressed in the leggings and oversized sweater you’d worn to brunch with Wanda, and all you had to do was straighten your hair and pull on your boots before you were out the door. The address he’d sent you was within walking distance of your apartment; in fact, you’d been there before, but never on a date.

Your heart was pounding the entire way over, and you couldn’t get over how unlike you this was. You didn’t just get up and meet guys you’d met on the internet on such short notice, much less so late at night. And yet here you were, stepping into the café fifteen minutes after receiving Loki’s message. Your eyes scanned the room, but it appeared that he wasn’t there yet. As you got in line to order, you tried to calm yourself, not wanting to look too frazzled when your date finally showed up. You tried to even your breathing, twisting the fabric of your sleeves between your nervous fingers.

He’s just a person, you told yourself. You’ve been on dates before; everything was going to be fine. Nothing bad was going to-

“Hello, there.”

You gasped and turned around, eliciting a chuckle from the man now towering over you. He was dressed in a set of black trousers with a simple white button-down tucked into them, and his hair was loose and falling around his shoulders. His grin was wide and full of teeth, with just the slightest sinister edge to it. But his eyes were warm and twinkling with excitement and just a hint of mischief. Those clear blue irises brought a smile to your own lips, and you chuckled along with him at your initial fright.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you walk in,” you explained.

“It’s quite alright,” he assured you, offering his hand. “I know you already are aware, but I’m Loki.”

You grinned and introduced yourself, going to shake his hand, but he smoothly cradled your fingers and drew them up to his lips, pressing a light kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s good to finally meet you in person,” he cooed, seemingly all too aware of how flustered you now were.

You opened your mouth to say something in return, but you couldn’t think of anything to say as silence lay heavily between the two of you. You were saved, though, when the barista called out to you, asking if she could take your order. You spun around on your heel and shot her a grateful glance before ordering your favorite menu item and reaching into your purse for your wallet.

“…And I’ll have a cup of Earl Grey,” Loki stepped in, handing her a card from his open wallet.

“Oh, I could have paid for mine,” you protested, but he waved you off.

“No, no, love. It’s my treat.”

He gave you a tight, close-lipped smile, and you didn’t protest further as he paid for your orders. He led you to a booth in the corner, sliding into the side opposite to yours gracefully. The leather squeaked against your thighs as you shuffled in, and when you were finally settled across from him you caught a flicker in his eye that sent chills up your spine.

It was gone in an instant, though, replaced by the same suave look he’d had while ordering his tea.

“So,” he began, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “As I said before, I’m a fan of your work. Truly, I have been since your very first novel.”

“’Beauty in the Blood’?” you asked incredulously. “I’m surprised; no one seems to like that one. After reading it, my mom suggested that I start going to therapy.”

Loki chuckled, licking his lips, and your eyes followed his tongue of their own accord.

“Ah, well, whether or not that’s true, it’s still my favorite of your works by far,” he continued. “The parts told by the killer’s perspective were…beautiful. You captured his mind so artfully, it was as if…”

He paused, searching your face for a moment.

“It was as if…you understood him,” he finished.

You furrowed your eyebrows, thinking over his words. He’d skipped right over the small talk you’d come to suspect on first dates, but despite how strange of a direction the conversation was taking, you were…intrigued by it.

“Well,” you started, “I feel like I did understand him.  I mean, sure, he took delight in the killing of others; he saw it as an art form. But as twisted and evil as he was, he was still a person – a person that had come from my mind. Cuz the thing is…”

You paused, gathering your thoughts and trying to find the right words to convey them.

“The thing is,” you spoke carefully, “that every storyteller uses bits and pieces of themselves to tell a story. A story is like a stained glass window – it’s made up of different pieces of an author’s mind and soul, and it comes together to create something greater than the sum of those pieces. So, yes, I think I can understand him; his darkness might be a reflection of my own – deep, deep down.”

You glanced up at him, blinking when you saw the transfixed look upon his face. His eyes were wider than they had been before, and his lips were parted as he listened.

“Sorry,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I, uh… I got a little carried away. You probably think I’m some kind of freak-“

“I think you’re beautiful.”

His words took your breath away, and when the barista set down your cups on the table, you jumped in surprise.

“Is there anything else I can get you guys?” she asked cheerfully, and a flash of annoyance crossed over Loki’s face at the interruption.

“We’re fine,” you assured her quickly, giving her a polite smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome!”

You gripped your mug tightly as she walked away, savoring its heat as it warmed up your cold hands.

“So,” you said, desperate to break the sudden silence that had fallen over the table, “you mentioned that you’re a coroner. What drew you to your profession?”

Loki sipped his tea, humming as he thought over the question.

“Well… The conversation has already veered towards the darker side of things,” he mused. “I might as well tell you the story.

“When I was twelve years old, my sister killed herself,” he began.

“Oh, Loki, I’m so sorry-“

“Oh, no, don’t be,” he interrupted. “We weren’t close at all. I was adopted at a young age, you see, and Hella never accepted me. She was cruel, and she took every opportunity she could to remind me of my inadequacies.

“But, as I said, one day she died. At first, we didn’t know how it happened; there were no marks on her body whatsoever. She just looked like she was sleeping as she lay there in bed. We called the hospital, and the police, and eventually the coroners discovered that she’d injected bleach into her arm. Later on, my mother found the syringe under her bed, and all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. We finally knew the how and the when, and I never really cared much about the why.

“…That probably makes me sound like a monster, doesn’t it?”

You sat back, swallowing a scalding-hot sip of your drink before answering.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head. “I don’t think that makes you a monster. She abused you; it’s only natural that you found some relief in her death. I would’ve probably felt the same way.”

He studied you for a moment, tracing the lip of his cup with his index finger.

“I wonder if you would have…” he murmured to himself, so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it.

“Well,” he sighed, plastering a smile on once more and straightening up, “you probably aren’t going to be very keen on a second date if I keep dragging our conversation into subjects like this. Tell me, where are you from? What made you move to the city?”

“How do you know I’m not from here?”

“Love, neither of us have the New York accent, now do we?”

You laughed, and after that the two of you fell into an easy flow; it seemed that the heavy beginning of the date made it all the easier to talk to him. You discussed what you liked about the city and what you didn’t like; you learned that Loki was originally from a small town right outside of London, and that he has an adopted brother named Thor that he was close to.

“He’s an oaf,” he’d said when you’d asked what his brother was like. “Everything about him is literally the opposite of its coinciding part of me. But…he loves me; he never thought of me as the adopted child. I was always just his brother; despite his shortcomings, I think he does mean well. Besides, his IQ level is in the single digits, so I’m afraid I must look out for him for fear of what would happen if he were left to his own devices.”

From there, you shared stories about growing up, about life and ex partners and mistakes and successes. Before you knew it, the happy barista from before was approaching your table again, this time with a nervous smile.

“Hey, guys,” she greeted. “I’m so so sorry to bother you, but we’re closing up…”

Loki glanced down at his watch as you glanced at your phone – 10:30.

“Shit,” you laughed. “I had no idea. Time flies…”

Your date shot a glare at the barista before his eyes flickered to you. He gave you a wide, close-lipped smile and straightened his collar, raising his eyebrows.

“Then I suppose it’s time for us to head out,” he murmured. “May I escort you home?”

“Oh! Of course. If it’s not too far out of your way…”

“Even if it is,” he smiled, “I still want to walk you home.”

Your heart fluttered, and you set a five dollar bill on the table as a tip before standing up. The barista scurried away, and you almost turned to apologize to her for Loki’s cold shoulder. But you didn’t know him well yet; maybe that’s just how he was. Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it.

“You guys have a good night!” she called out after you, and you smiled over your shoulder at her before reaching for the door. Loki’s hand darted out and grabbed the handle before you could, opening it for you with a slight bow.

“After you, my lady.”

“How chivalrous.”

The two of you walked side by side down the street, hands brushing as you strolled down the sidewalk. You glanced upwards, smiling at the scattering of stars overhead as your breath fogged in the chilly air. You shivered, rubbing your arms a little bit to ward off the chill. Loki evidently caught the movement, and you felt his arm drape around your shoulders. You leaned into the warmth of his body, tilting your head up to share a grin with him.

“Again – chivalrous.”

He chuckled, squeezing you for a beat.

“I try my best… It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“Gorgeous. Not as gorgeous as you, but…very pretty.”

You laughed and hid your face in his neck.

“Stop… You’re too charming.”

“Oh, really? I was under the impression there was no such thing.”

The two of you fell back into a companionable silence as you guided him towards your brownstone, until he spoke up once again.

“I must say… There’s a question that I’ve been meaning to ask you that I’m just…dying to know the answer to.”

“Go ahead, Loki. I’m an open book.”

He laughed softly again, hesitating before voicing his question.

“If you were to kill someone, how would you do it?”

You paused, thinking over your response.

“Well… Why am I killing them? Is it a crime of passion or a crime of necessity? Am I killing them just for the enjoyment of it, or out of revenge, or because the person needs to die for a bigger cause?”

“That… That is actually an excellent follow-up question,” Loki mused. “Let’s say… A crime of necessity. The person needs to die for a personal reason with no anger or revenge in mind. How do you do it?”

You bit your lip, calling to mind all of your morbid Google searches that might apply.

“Um… Air shot between the toes,” you finally said. “Fill a syringe with air and inject it between their toes while they sleep. It’ll look like a heart attack that way.”

Unbeknownst to you, warmth suddenly bloomed in Loki’s chest, and you glanced up just in time to catch the fond, almost…loving gleam in his eye. He quickly looked away, tilting his head up to look at the stars, but you’d caught it. And it wasn’t that it unsettled you; you weren’t uncomfortable because of the look. You were uncomfortable because you hadn’t been upset by it. You’d felt that same flutter once again as butterflies batted around your rib cage.

Nothing more was said as you turned the corner that led to your street, and you silently ascended your home’s steps with Loki’s arm still around your shoulders. You reluctantly slid your key into the lock, only turning to him once your door was opened a crack.

“I had… A really good time with you, Loki,” you told him, craning your neck to look into his eyes. “I know that this isn’t what you’re supposed to say to a guy after a first date; I know that it might scare you away. But I want you to know that I haven’t felt this way in a long… Actually, I’ve never felt this way. And it’s really scary, but I hope… I hope we can do this again sometime soon.”

Loki’s eyes softened, and he moved his arm from around your shoulders to your cheek.

“I haven’t felt his way, either,” he murmured. “But I know that I don’t want the feeling to go away.”

He was leaning forward, his eyes closing, and your heart leapt into your throat as you met him halfway. His lips were cold, and smooth, and soft as they pressed against yours, and you leaned into his touch when he pulled you closer by your hips. A sound escaped your throat as his tongue darted out, licking past the barrier of your mouth to glide itself against yours. His hands came up to cradle your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing against your cheekbones as your lips moved against one another, and you hummed once again as your chests pressed together.

You don’t know who pulled away first, but you spent a moment just taking in one another’s essence, your foreheads pressed together as the fog of your breaths mingled. You heard Loki let out a chuckle, and you looked up curiously.

“What is it?”

“I’ve just…” He licked his lips and let out another soft laugh before pulling away.

“I’ve just never felt like this before,” he repeated.

You smiled and pressed a peck to his lips before walking towards your door again.

“Have a good night, love,” he called after you, and you paused in the doorway to blow him a kiss.

“You too, Loki.”

You shut your door, missing the way his gaze darkened as he stared at the façade of your building.

“Oh, I will, darling. I will.”

__________

Loki hummed to himself, the leather of his gloves squeaking as he clenched and unclenched his fists. The silver of the table gleamed under the fluorescent lights of his basement, and the air was musty, thick with the smell of iron…and decay. Instruments and tools were lined along the wall in front of him - knives, machetes, a hatchet… It was cliché; he knew that. But he just hadn’t been able to resist the temptation while designing this special room.

A muffled scream sounded from behind him, and he rolled his eyes before turning back to the perky little barista who was currently strapped down to another metal table he’d “borrowed” from the hospital morgue.

“Are you honestly still trying to scream for help?” he snarked, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’ve told you; you’re currently under about five feet of solid concrete. Who will hear you? Who will help you?”

The girl let out a sob, and he watched her big blue eyes flicker to the wall just over his shoulder before coming to rest on him again. They were red and swollen, and he let out a coo of false sympathy.

“Oh, don’t worry, little girl. None of these are for you.” He grinned, turning back to the table behind him. “You can thank my new lover for that. No, she inspired me to take a different direction this evening.”

A small, genuine smile came over his face as he picked up the large syringe, turning it over in his hands.

“She’s been inspiring me for a while, actually,” he mused, ignoring the screams as he sauntered over to his victim, syringe in hand. “She’s such a brilliant writer, my darling is. It truly was fate that brought us together; if I’d had known that my favorite author was a beautiful young woman who also lived in Manhattan, well… I’m sure I would have found her sooner. But I won’t dwell on lost time; I’ll just have to make up for it.”

He ran a hand over the girl’s knee, trailing it down her shin even as she struggled against the strong ropes twined around her wrists and ankles. As his hand gripped the arch of her foot in an iron-like hold, he let his eyes close. This was always his favorite part – the moments right before death. The anticipation was like foreplay; it got him just as hot and eager, and the payoff was very nearly comparable. If he were ever asked to describe the feeling of ending another person’s life, of ripping out the remaining chapters from their story before it could be written, the only thing he’d be able to compare it to was an orgasm. That white-hot pleasure that flooded his veins was addictive, as was the lead up he was experiencing right now.

“You know,” he mused, slowly drawing back the plunger of the syringe, “my girl is so smart… Not a lot of people would think to off someone like this. But it’s not as easy as you would think; you can’t just use any old syringe. It has to be big, has to be a lot of air. And you have to be careful; if you hit muscle, it won’t be fatal, and the whole endeavor would be for naught. But if you hit a vein, and if you get a big enough pocket of air…”

The duct tape on her mouth did little to quell her scream as he inserted the needle into her flesh. A novice might not be able to find a vein, especially not in a foot, but the years of medical school paid off, just as they did every day at his job. He injected the empty cartridge into her vein, groaning and letting his eyes drift shut. He was slow about removing the needle; the separation of steel from skin was slow, intimate… Gentle.

“Hush…” he whispered, drawing out the word with a hiss. “It’s done now, love. It’s done.”

He let his arm fall to the side, and he took a step back, watching the girl start to settle down as he put some distance between them. He gently set the syringe down onto the table before crossing the room to the armchair in the corner. Letting out a soft grunt, he lowered himself into the seat, crossing his legs and letting his head fall back.

“Fuck, what a day,” he sighed. “This isn’t what I was expecting when I woke up this morning.”

Loki lifted his head and gave the young girl a wry smile.

“As you may have guessed, this isn’t my first time doing something like this,” he began. “But I do try to limit myself. I may take…five victims a year. Maybe six or seven if I’m particularly stressed. My last one was on New Year’s, though. I’m not due for a killing for another few months, but… That girl really had me going.

“I was hoping that she’d invite me in tonight,” he confessed. “Though I wasn’t expecting it. It was our first date, after all. But a man can hope, can’t he? If she had invited me to stay the night, you wouldn’t be here right now. Alas, though… I had all of these pent up feelings that I had to do something with. And you were so…obnoxious back at the café. I couldn’t tell if you were being genuine with your disgusting, overbearing cheerfulness or if it was as fake as your blonde hair. But, god, did it get under my skin…”

The girl let out a sob, and he noticed that she was beginning to shake. He chuckled, feeling himself grow hard in his trousers as he thought of you. You’d come up with this idea, this beautiful, drawn-out murder. Such a sweet, innocent looking girl on the outside. But such delicious, pure wickedness within.

“Fuck,” he huffed, palming himself through his pants. “Despite the nuisance you made of yourself, today was so perfect… She’s the One, you know. The one and only girl who can ever complete me. I didn’t even believe in this sort of thing this morning, but for the first time in my life, I’m glad I was wrong.”

He forced himself to still his hand, moving it to his knee as his jaw clenched. In the past, he’d done this in front of a few of his victims; male or female, if they were pretty, young things, the act of killing them made him so hard that he had to touch himself as he watched them squirm on his table. But not tonight, not after you. That part of himself was only for you, now, and he was strong enough to resist the urge until his was the only heart beating under his roof.

And so he sat back and watched. At first, the girl only shivered, and after thirty minutes he was afraid that he hadn’t injected enough air into her. But then he noticed the way she was breathing; it was like she was a fish out of water, and the slope of her furrowed eyebrows betrayed the pain she was in.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, voice thick. At first she didn’t answer, but then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. He hummed in understanding, hiding his grin behind his hand as he scratched his chin.

“How marvelous.”

He knew she wouldn’t last long when her skin started to turn blue. After an hour, the seizures began, jolting and shaking her body as if she were a ragdoll. He watched in fascination, his cold, blue eyes never leaving her tied-up form. Soft, strained whimpers were leaving her throat, and he let out a purr as her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

His joints popped as he stood up, and the heels of his shoes clicked against the concrete floor as he rounded the table, making his way to her pretty blonde head. He slowly, deliberately pulled the duct tape away from her mouth, and he chuckled at how blue her lips had become.

“This is a much better look on you,” he observed. “This is so much more real than those saccharine smiles.”  

She finally went still 84 minutes after the injection. Even after her heart stopped beating, he stood over her, watching the unnatural stillness of her chest. Despite all of the corpses he’d created over the years, and despite the years he’d spent in his profession, it was still something that he’d never gotten used to. People weren’t supposed to be that still; people were supposed to blink, and smile, and talk, and breathe, but the things they became after death did none of those things. They didn’t move, and they didn’t feel, and there was always a moment of disgust when he first laid eyes on a fresh corpse.

But it passed quickly, even quicker than normal tonight. The disgust faded away and left behind pure, unadulterated lust as his thoughts strayed once more to you. Typically, he would stay behind, lingering in the basement to dispose of the body. Sometimes, if he wasn’t too tired, he would actually drive out and deposit them in whatever spot he’d predetermined to be the one the police were to find them in.

But tonight, he left the corpse there on the table. He flicked the lights off and climbed the first, then the second set of stairs, peeling off his gloves and petting his cat on the way to his bedroom. He showered, then combed his hair, then settled down between his silk sheets completely naked. Then, and only then, did his hand travel down to his cock, and his mind once again, indubitably, trekked back to you. Your face, your voice, your beautiful fucking mind…

The thought that finally made him cum was the picture of him fucking you in a pool of blood on his basement floor, of the bright crimson painting your skin as he let his hands worship your body. The thought followed him into his dreams, ruby red and throbbing to the beat of his heart as he slept deeply into the night.

_____________

Detective Romanoff stood side by side with her partner in front of the dead body, hands planted firmly on her hips as she chewed her lip.

“How old did you say she was?” she asked the coroner, her eyes flicking down to the rope burn on the woman’s – the girl’s – wrists and ankles.

“Twenty,” was Dr. Odinson’s accented reply. He turned around, glancing between the two detectives before taking a deep breath and turning his attention back to the body. “I’m afraid that there won’t be much investigating for the two of you to do here. The cause of death was a heart attack, pure and simple.”

“A twenty year old girl having a heart attack?” Detective Rogers scoffed. “I think you got your wires crossed, there, Loki.”

Natasha watched as a muscle in the coroner’s jaw twitched, and he let out a frustrated huff as he peeled off his medical gloves.

“Detective, this sort of thing happens all the time – freak accidents that can strike even the healthiest of people. They are…unfortunate, but they’re also a fact of life.” He tossed the balled up gloves into a trash can and whisked past them, bending over to type something into the laptop resting on his desk as he continued speaking to them.

“After reviewing her medical records, I found out that her father died two years ago from a heart attack; if I were a gambling man, I would say that a bad set of genes were the only culprit here.”

“What about the marks on her wrists?” Natasha asked. “They gotta mean something, right?”

“Oh, I’m sure they do,” Loki smirked, cutting his eyes over at her before straightening up. “It probably means that little Miss…” He paused, glancing down at a paper resting beside his computer. “Miss Allison Berry was into bondage before her untimely demise.”

“A woman is lying dead, Odinson,” Rogers spat. “Show some respect.”

Loki raised his hands up in surrender as he sauntered towards them.

“I apologize if I offended you, Detective,” he replied coolly. “I meant no disrespect. But I’ve run all the tests in the book. There were no signs of sexual assault, no signs of foul play. I’ll type up a proper report for the two of you, but I’m telling you now – the girl died of a heart attack.”

Natasha and Steve shared a look before turning back to the doctor.

“Have the report ready for us before the end of the day,” she ordered, patting Steve on the shoulder and gesturing for him to follow her as she made her way out of the cold morgue.

“Whatever you say, Officer.”

Natasha froze mid-step, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck bristle as a thousand images flashed through her mind after hearing him say that word. She gulped, oblivious to the confused look Steve was giving her, and she kept walking without turning back around.

“It’s Detective, now, doctor.”

The door clicked shut behind them, cutting off Loki’s dark chuckle as he was once again was left alone with Allison Berry’s body. His smile didn’t fade as he pulled on another pair of gloves; if anything, it grew as he finished the young woman’s autopsy.

“I was being honest with them; you know that, don’t you?” He winked at the girl’s unseeing eyes, his hands moving of their own accord as he stitched up the clean line he’d cut through the skin, bone, and muscle of her chest.

“It was just a heart attack.”

[flyfireflyfly]

Tagged: Self-Promo

Was tagged by @promisesox for a self-promotion thingy, with posting 5 of your favorite creations. Technically only 3 of mine are complete, but I wanted to include the other 2. Anyone who wants self-promote, consider this as me tagging you ♥

1. All I Want For Christmas

My first story, posted 7 years ago. It doesn’t seem like that much time has gone by. I used to go back and read it every so often. It amazes me how much my writing has changed, and how much is still the same.

2. Hope and Chances

I do have some regrets with certain stories. There’s about 5 of them I’ve actually come to hate. Hope and Chances is one though that I think I really got it right. There isn’t anything about it that I would change.

3. A Good Girl

1,982 subscribers on AFF. My most subscribed story, more than double my second most subscribed story. I take it to mean that it’s my most popular fic. I don’t know why that is, but I can honestly say it gave me a huge confidence boost seeing so many people enjoy it. It really made me feel like an actual writer, that I can expand in to other genres or themes, that my stuff really was worth reading. That I didn’t mess up again. 1,982 may not seem like much, especially compared to a lot of other writers on AFF, but it means everything to me.

4. This-title-keeps-changing

Blurred cause I’m too embarrassed for it to be seen >.<  They’re notes, filling up a notebook that @supastareden​ had gifted me. It’s for a book I’m writing. Well, I’m not really sure yet if it’ll be 1 or 2 books... And “writing” is a bit of a stretch since I haven’t been doing anything let alone writing... But, yeah. I’m writing a book. One day (probably in about 30 years) it’ll be published, even if I have to self-publish it.

5. Doll

Again, I’m really not writing. I work 6 days a week. My brain simply shuts off when I get home. When I do write, I get a paragraph or so down. And it’s agonizing that that is all I can manage. It feels like I lost the ability to write anything more than those book notes in a notebook while daydreaming. Yet I still keep going back every couple of weeks or so to jot down a few more sentences. I’ve been working on Doll, a smut fic with Yongguk, for a little over a year now. It’s still not finished and I’ll cry in the shower about that later, but here’s the first 2 chapters:

1)

As you woke up, you kept your eyes closed. You could feel your mat under you and the warmth that it gave off. It was odd but it was something you loved. Something about that heat that calmed you and strengthened you. Letting the moment go, you finally opened your eyes and sat up. The room was completely dark like always, save for a thin strip of light shining in from under the door that helped you make out all the other bodies around you. They each had their own mats that were crammed together, fitting as many people as possible in to the one room. Or rather, as many 'dolls' as possible. You looked at the male doll to your right. He was sitting up and picking at a loose thread on his boxers. You turned your gaze to your own clothing. A black lingerie set with lots of lace that barely hid anything. Adjusting it, you checked to make sure it wasn't falling apart anywhere. You liked it much better than the previous set you wore and you didn't want to have it replaced just yet. Suddenly the room got much brighter and you lifted your head. The door was open and a woman beckoned everyone out. "Let's go!" You stood with the rest of the group and shuffled forward. Once through the doorway, you found yourself in a brightly lit hallway. Its white walls were empty of any decoration. You kept walking, following the lady and the rest of the dolls. Another door and you entered a room that was a tiny bit more inviting. The lush carpet felt better on your bare feet than the hard linoleum of the hallway. On the light blue walls hung pictures, all of dolls in various sexual poses. The group separated with the boys lining up against one wall and the girls moving to the opposite side. Time for work. You glanced over to your left and saw the doorway that had a curtain hanging in it. Through it was a much larger room where the sales took place. Other dolls would be lined up in there, the ones that were 'new'. Dolls that haven't been with anyone and could fetch a higher price. You and the rest of the dolls in the back were technically for sale, but it was unheard of for a working doll to be bought. There were rumors of it happening in other stores though. The curtain moved and the lady from before walked in with another woman. "Here is our selection of males." The new woman slowly walked down the line, eyeing every one of the guys, before stopping in front of a large, muscular man. "I'll take this one." "Great. He is your keycard for your room. You're in room number one." The customer took the card and headed towards the stairs. The male doll followed after her, putting his arm around her waist and settling his hand on her hip. He said something quietly to her that you couldn't hear, and she responded with a flirtatious giggle. When they disappeared from view, you glanced back over at the curtained doorway. The lady was gone now, back up front where she could assist any other customers. There would be plenty more throughout the day that would pay for the backroom experience. Select a doll of their preference to be taken upstairs and have their way with. Suppressing a sigh, you leaned back against the wall and waited. It was only a few minutes later though that the curtain was pulled back again so you hurriedly straightened. The man examined the line of females before his gaze lingered on you. You subtly shifted, sticking a hip out and pulling your shoulders back to show off your curves. "This one." A coy smile formed on your face and you stepped forward. "Good choice. She's one of our newest dolls. I'm sure you'll be happy with her."

The man wrapped his arm around your waist and lead you to the stairs. The wood steps didn't feel as good on your bare feet as the carpet, and the customer's hand that moved down to grab your ass wasn't pleasant either. But you ignored all that and went up to the second floor. On this floor were several doors, each with a room number on them. The male went over to the third room and opened the door with the keycard. You swept past him through the doorway while glancing around the room. It was identical to the others, just big enough to fit a large bed with a small television in the corner. Suddenly you were shoved and you stumbled forward. Then you were pushed again, making you practically fall on to the bed. You crawled on to it and rolled your eyes at the guy's impatience. When you looked back at him though, you made sure you kept your face neutral so he wouldn't see any displeasure. The man stripped off his clothes in a hurry, his sharp gaze never leaving your body. It was a look you had seen before and mentally cursed. You started to take off your clothes, only managing to unclasp your bra, when he closed the distance to you. He yanked the bra off before grabbing your underwear with both of his hands. There was a distinct sound of cloth ripping as he wrenched them down your legs. You watched helplessly as he threw the panties aside. He dropped down on to you and without warning, he pushed in to you, filling you with his whole length. You threw your head back as you cried out, and then gritted your teeth as he started thrusting in to you. There was always the ones that only cared about their pleasure. So you simply laid there and let him have his way with you while listening to his grunting. He planted his hands onto the bed on either side of you and pushed up so he was hovering over you. Even now he stared at your bare breast, his gaze never wavering. You examined everything about him. His demeanor, his expression, and mostly the way he was ruthlessly pounding in to you. He didn't want pleasure. He wanted dominance. Shrinking in to yourself, you screwed up your face to reflect more of the pain he was giving you. Instead of moaning, you whined and whimpered. Finally he met your gaze and you hoped there was enough weakness in your eyes. You didn't have to wait long to find out as his pace faltered. He grimaced and let out a string of profanities before collapsing down on to you. His slick, sweaty skin made you wrinkle your nose in disgust, but you forced yourself to endure it until he finally rolled off of you. Panting still, he sat up and surveyed your body. He reached over and grabbed one of your boobs, squeezing it roughly and making you hiss as you arched your back. Then he let go and his hand moved between your legs, groping you. "Not bad." he nonchalantly said. He moved off of the bed and started getting dressed. You took that as a signal that he was done with and climbed off the bed as well. Instead of putting your bra and underwear back on though, you held them in your hands. It was standard protocol, though you would have stayed naked anyways. The last thing you wanted was to get his sweat and stink on them. Only after he left the room did you leave, following him to the stairwell. As he went downstairs, you hurried through a door tucked away in corner. It led to a small bathroom with an open shower area. You stepped under one of the showerheads and a stream of warm water hit you. You cleaned yourself thoroughly before moving to the shelves that held clean towels. As you were drying yourself, the male doll that had went upstairs before you entered. He didn't spare you a glance though as he went in to the showers. Dropping the towel in to a bin, you retrieved your lingerie. Holding up the underwear, you found a slight tear along the seem and pouted. Just as you feared, that asshole ruined them. You carefully dressed, being extra mindful to not tear it anymore. Hopefully they'll last till the end of the day so you could try to mend them. Once you were ready, you left the bathroom and descended the stairs. There were a few dolls still lined up but you noticed some were missing. More than likely upstairs with their own clients. You took your spot along the wall while suppressing a sigh and waited for your next customer.

2)

The day slowly passed by with a steady stream of clients coming and going. Of course it got busier in the evenings. People getting off work and coming in for one little tryst before heading home. Sometimes there would even be clients waiting for their turn in a separate lounge, insisting on a particular doll. Stifling a yawn, you watched as the curtain was pulled back yet again. The newest customer examined both lines of dolls and you silently prayed you wouldn't be chosen, even as they neared you. Then they picked the girl standing beside you and you forced yourself not to let out a breath in relief. They barely made it halfway up the stairs though when you heard the rustle of the curtain. You glanced over at the doorway and inhaled sharply. The man shyly smiled as the storekeeper directed him over to the female dolls, causing an odd sensation to form in your stomach. "This is her." They stopped in front of you, which meant that this was a special request. You took a hesitant step forward and eyed the man curiously. There was no denying how handsome he was, even in just a simple t-shirt and jeans. And with the way the lady who ran the store was standing so close, you had a feeling you weren't the only one admiring his looks. "Here is your keycard." she said and held it up from him. When he went to take it from her, she quickly put her hand over his to stop him. "I do hope you enjoy your time. Let me know if there is anything you need." A small smile formed on your face over her behavior, and it grew larger as you noticed him blush. "Thank you." he replied as he took the keycard from her. Then he turned his attention to you. "Uh... well..." He indicated for you to walk ahead of him, much like a gentleman would with a lady. That odd feeling in your stomach intensified and you attempted to ignore it. Nodding politely at him, you started to head towards the stairs. He walked beside you, not touching you and making him stand out even more. He didn't act like every other man that entered the back room. Once you were on the second floor, he checked the number on the keycard. "Room ten." Then he examined the doors near the stairwell. "It's further down." you informed him. Taking his hand, you led him down the hallway to the right door. After unlocking it, the man opened the door and stepped aside. You moved past him to enter the room first and made your way to the end of the bed. You turned around and stood there, waiting. He  never approached you though. He simply stood there, hesitating, as if he was unsure what to do. "What's wrong?" you asked. Then a thought came to you as you recalled the shy smile he had earlier. "Oh wait, here." You went to the television and pushed the power button. Instantly a porno was shown on the screen, accompanied with the loud wailing of a woman. His eyes widened in surprise as he stared at the television. "Oh, uh... Actually..." He closed the distance and turned it off. Then he turned to you. He hesitated once more before he gently placed his hands on your hips and kissed you. This time you were surprised, but you hurriedly kissed him back. You set your own hands on his arms just as gently. You knew now what he was expecting. He wanted a more personal experience and you made a mental note of that in case he came back. He pulled back and licked his lips as he gaze lowered. His hands slid up your sides before going back down, moving just past your hips. Then he brought them upwards again, much higher than before. He briefly met your gaze, as if giving you a chance to protest. When you didn't, he moved his hands over your breast, fondling them. Reaching up behind you, you unclasped your bra. He licked his lips once more, this time in anticipation, and moved his hands back. You let the bra slip off of you to fall on to the floor. More hesitation, even as you noticed the growing lust in his eyes, and then he grabbed your breast. More gentleness, so when he suddenly squeezed them roughly, you gasped as your back arched. Then his fingers toyed with your nipples, pinching them and rubbing them as they hardened. The fact that he wanted it to be personal filled your mind again. "What's your name?" He looked away from your breast and raised his eyebrows. "Yongguk." You closed the distance, forcing his hands to move away. Tilting your head slightly, you began to pepper his neck with kisses. Your hands found the hem of his shirt before disappearing under it. Running you hands over his skin, you started to lightly suck as his neck as well. A sigh escaped his lips, encouraging you to continue. So when you sucked on one particular spot that made him stiffen, you gave his neck a harsh suck. You were rewarded with a tiny cry, sending tingles through your body. Then you pulled back and licked his neck upwards to his ear. You sucked on his earlobe just as your fingers ran over his nipples. "Yongguk." you quietly whimpered in to his ear. "Fuck." He swiftly stripped off his shirt before grabbing you and yanking you closer. His lips smashed in to yours, eagerly kissing you as his hands squeezed your ass.

You squirmed against him, causing you to feel the forming hardness in his pants. You attempted to wrap your leg around his but he suddenly started pushing against you. Kissing him still, you awkwardly walked backwards as he guided you. Then your legs hit the bed and you unwillingly broke off the kiss. You moved on to the bed and scooted backwards until you reached the pillows. Yongguk followed you, crawling over you. Before he could lay down, you reached downwards and rubbed your hand over his dick. He let out a moan, his mouth dropping open as his eyes unfocused. Fluttering in your chest left you breathless, and you quickly set about undoing his jeans. As soon as you felt the cloth of his boxers, you pushed your hand inside them and wrapped your fingers around his hard member. You only managed a few strokes through when he forced your hand a away. Pinning your wrists to the bed, he leaned down kissed you once more. You closed your eyes and managed to hold back a moan until you felt Yongguk's tongue moving over your lips. As soon as you gave him an opening, his tongue entered your mouth for a brief moment. Then he pulled back and gently kissed your jaw. Your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. He shifted to the side and brought his mouth down on your left breast, sucking on it and causing your back to arch. You opened your eyes to watch him just as he nibbled on your nipple. Biting your lip, you attempted to lift your arms but he forced them to stay against the bed. Pulling back slighting, he flicked your hardened nipple with his tongue a few time. Then he met your gaze as he relinquished your arms. You no longer had any desire to move them though as he slid further down your body, leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach and to your lace panties. He hooked his fingers in to them and sat up. You lifted some of your weight so he could smoothly pull the last of your clothes off of you, leaving you completely naked for him. He looked over you body, his gaze lingering a bit more in certain places. Reaching forward, he slipped his fingers through your wet folds and a quiet moan escaped him. He circled your entrance with one finger and then moved upwards to your clit. He pushed on it a few times before rubbing it. You gasped as pleasure flowed through your body, causing your legs to stretch out and your back to arch off the bed. You closed your eyes and let yourself drown in it. Which was easy to do as you felt him quicken his pace. It wasn't long until you were squirming, your heavy panting filling the room. "Yongguk." you whined as you shuddered. The pleasure disappeared as he moved his hand away. You opened your eyes to watch him remove the rest of his clothing. Once naked, he draped his body over you, settling between your legs and rubbing his dick on you. His lips found yours again for a brief moment before he shifted and you felt him pushing in to you. A long moan escaped him and he pressed his face in to your neck. Then he began to rock his hips, swiftly pumping in to you. You gasped and quickly reached up with your hands to grab him. The pleasure from before returned with ferocity, a storm threatening to break you in to pieces. His name played on your lips over and over, turning in to a desperate chant. Which seemed to only urge him on and his pace increased. His moans growing louder and coming more frequently to drown you out. Tremors racked his body and his arms wrapped around you tightly. As if clinging on to you could help temper his own storm consuming him. Finally something inside you snapped and you cried out as your body jerked. Seconds later Yongguk cried out as well and his hips slammed in to you, pushing his dick deep in to you as he cummed. Then he collapsed on to you.

You laid there, listening to his heavy breathing, and holding on to him. His sweaty body didn't repulse you like your first client much to your surprise. And when he went to roll off of you, you were reluctant to release him. He laid on his back next to you and you rolled on to your side in order to look at him. "That was better than I expected." he stated with a small chuckle. Then his eyes met yours and a blush graced his face. You smiled and sat up before leaning towards him. You trailed a hand down the side of his face, caressing him and earning a startled look from him. You ignored it though and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Which only made him blush harder and you giggled. With a shy smile, he sat up and slipped off the bed. You watched as he rounded the bed to retrieve his clothes before climbing off the bed yourself. You gathered up your lingerie and waited for him. When he was done dressing, he glanced at you and hesitated as he eyed your still naked body. "I have to go clean up." you informed him. More blushing and another shy smile. "Oh... yeah." He indicated towards the door and you nodded your head to signal that you were ready. Then he opened it and moved aside for you to leave the room first. The two of you walked down the hallway in silence. At the staircase, he started to go but stopped when he noticed you weren't following. "I have to go in there." You pointed to the cleaning room's door and then as an afterthought, you asked, "I'll see you around?" There was a bit of surprise in his eyes but then he smiled at you. "Sure."

[foxtophat]

WHOOO BOY okay here we are! i’m all done with another mercy fic!!! that is honestly amazing, startling, thrilling, all that good shit. i am STOKED!!!

i don’t have much to say about it, other than writing kim and john interacting has been so much fun!!! i’m going to have to come up with more reasons for the two of them to hang out. when john and nick talk it’s like fighting words all the time but with kim john can actually just be a tired adult, and i think he might need that sometimes.

so, i took the fic’s title from a new mountain goats song that i really like. it’s very depressing though. even worms turn into butterflies i guess :(

as usual, the chapter is beneath the cut for those of you who don’t want to leave tumblr’s comfortable embrace.  i absolutely adore kudos, comments, likes, reblogs and those passing glances on the street as you wonder “is that the famous author of a tiny fandom’s niche survival au????”  yeah, i see you out there, looking for me. i’m carmen san diego, bitch!!! good luck with that!!!!

love you guys, have a good day, and thanks for putting up with me!!! <3

John might try to couch it in exasperation and paint it as a tactical retreat, but Kim sees him leaving for what it really is: gut instinct telling him to escape. She doesn't blame him for needing space, of course. From the way Nick watches him go, it's clear that the day's been harder than either of them have let on. She's sure that Nick will tell her the details later, but right now, it doesn't look like he has the energy. That's also fine; John's fragile emotional state is easily put on the back-burner. She has more important things to worry about right now. For one thing, she's got eighty pounds of supplies to handle and a family that's uncomfortable with the responsibility.

"It's still too much for us, isn't it," Nick says mournfully. "We gotta give more away, don't we?"

Kim privately admits to herself that she doesn't want to give any more away. Hell, she's even reluctant to give away what might be kept for bargaining later. The boxes of military rations, the ten pounds of salt, the five pounds of rice — they wouldn't have anything to worry about during winter. They wouldn't even have to leave the house if they didn't want to. But John has left all of that in a neutral fifth pile for them to divvy out equally, and Kim can't allow herself to be more selfish than him. That is absolutely unacceptable.

"We can give away the potato flakes," Kim says, diplomatically moving them to the center pile. "If we still don't feel like it's enough, we can give away more. But right now, we need to conserve the resources we have control over." Sighing hard in an attempt to blow stray hairs from her face, she adds, "Honestly, we should check that everything is still good before we decide to give anything away." After all, everything looks fine at a glance, but Kim has seen first-hand just how insidious mold can be in ill-stored supplies. Just because Jacob seemed to be prepared doesn't mean he couldn't make a mistake, and Kim isn't about to trust any Seed implicitly.

"I guess you're right," Nick replies, picking up one of the mylar bags and examining its contents through the clear side. Kim remembers the brand of powdered stock so clearly that if she closes her eyes, she can see exactly where it was stocked on the store shelves. Nick seems to be thinking the same thing, sounding strangely nostalgic as he asks, "You don't think there's still time to spice up dinner, do you?"

"Maybe if you guys had gotten here an hour ago," Kim says. "Much longer on the fire and everything is going to be mushy paste. And, again, we don't know if it's safe to use."

"Can we have these tomorrow?" Carmina asks, lifting one of the packaged rations up for approval.

"Not unless they won't last through winter," Kim replies. "Now, I know none of us are excited about five-day stew, but we can't let edible food go to waste just because there's something tastier in front of us." That doesn't do much to rally the troops, unfortunately, and Kim is stuck feeling like the bad guy, so she tries again. "Salt doesn't really go bad, though — I'm sure we can use that."

Nick accepts the terms of the compromise, thankfully, because he's an adult when he needs to be. He redirects his leftover energy towards the sealed bags, pointing Carmina towards the neutral pile. "Okay, you remember how to check whether something's gone bad, right?"

It's been a while since they've relied on store-bought goods, but Carmina hasn't forgotten best-by dates or how to spot discoloration. It's easy enough for them to determine the rations are still good; although the packaging boasts a dubious "fifty-year shelf-life," all of the wrappers are fresh and odorless. They'll have to open one up to be sure, but Kim isn't getting Carmina excited for that this close to dinner. The rice and salt are also easy passes, which means Kim hasn't made too lofty a promise to her family just by offering basic seasoning.

They don't risk breaking any seals quite yet, not without clean containers to hold everything, but it's easy to do a visual check even without opening anything up. Jacob had done his job well — other than the triple-wrapped bottles of liquor, the cache is entirely dry and moisture-free, and everything stored inside was meant to last. That tracks with what Kim knows of the oldest brother. He had been a sharp-minded survivalist; cunning, ruthless, and hard to outwit. He must have been a meticulous planner, putting all of this together, but Kim is struggling to understand what he had expected to do with it all. Like John had said — what good would food be to a man who had planned to survive the apocalypse inside a fully stocked, industrial bunker? And if he didn't trust the Project to save him, then why did he put so much effort into building its militia?

Jacob's motivations are a mystery that Kim isn't interested in solving. She's just glad that, for whatever reason, he'd buried these supplies in particular, and that he'd bothered to share the location with John. Thanks to his opaque planning, Kim can scratch some pipe-dream items off her supply list, and that's good enough for her. Honestly, food had been the last thing she'd suspected John could help them with — she still has trouble believing it's all here in front of her.

With Nick and Carmina studiously inspecting the cache supplies, Kim takes some time to pull the food from the fire. It's the third day they've eaten from this particular batch of stew, and the newest ingredients she put in today are almost a week old. The only thing she can say in favor of their leftovers at this point is that there isn't a lot of it left. She can only hope the salt helps, otherwise she's going to cave on the military rations herself.

Kim brings the pot into the kitchen, then decides it's time to check on John. There's a slim chance that he might have decided to disappear into the hangar, or walked as far as the end of the drive, and Kim isn't going to stand around shouting for him like some kind of Little Home on the Prairie character. She gives Nick a thumbs up as she heads for the front door; he doesn't stop her, but the crease in his brow tells her he wants to.

There's a path laid in the dirt between the porch and the truck where John clearly had been pacing, but when Kim comes outside, he's sitting motionless on the porch steps. He doesn't react as Kim comes up next to him, his elbows resting on his knees as he presses his forehead against his palms. She can't tell if he's ignoring her on purpose, or if he's just so deep in thought that he doesn't realize she's there. His turmoil tends to give him tunnel-vision, and he doesn't always notice his surroundings.

Kim doesn't think he's trying to give her the silent treatment, so she gives in first. "Dinner's going to be ready any minute," she tells him. "It's going to be the last tasteless meal for a while, so I hope you're excited."

"Thrilled," he replies, with just enough sarcasm for Kim to trust she isn't interrupting him mid-crisis. She gives him a minute, and sure enough, he eventually drops his hands from his face. Sighing heavily, he addresses the dirt when he speaks. "I take it I'll need a good excuse to get out of eating."

"Maybe if you had eaten breakfast, I'd be more willing to look the other way." Even though she knows John won't take her concern seriously, she can't completely hide it under her exasperation. She tries for his sake, but it's a lost cause. "I don't think you've finished a meal in days."

John closes his eyes briefly. "I haven't been hungry," he says.

Kim wishes he would be more petulant about it. She can handle it when John acts like a child — she's got nine years of raising Carmina under her belt, after all — but John's resignation is a weariness that reflects her own. She doesn't know how to help him with it any more than she knows how to help herself. She can hardly help Nick when he gets like this. She has no idea how to handle John.

Kim cranes her neck as she checks on Nick and Carmina, who are still busy with the supplies. Satisfied that they aren't in any immediate danger, she finally takes a seat next to John on the porch. He still doesn't look at her, his eyes fixed on his hands, but she's hardly surprised. She turns her own gaze to the truck, glinting in the sunset, and tries to follow the tire-tracks backward. She bets the dirt's held their tracks all the way back to the field.

"If it makes you feel better, my appetite has been terrible, too. Sometimes, all I can do is try to keep everything down." She sighs, lamenting mostly to herself, "What I wouldn't give for a Big Mac right now."

That earns her an amused huff from John, which is better than she'd expected. If he's able to tolerate her bad jokes, then at least she can be sure she isn't making things worse.

"At least once we get through our leftovers, we'll be able to start adding those emergency rations into rotation," Kim continues. John probably doesn't care about meal planning, but Kim doesn't need him to be an interested sounding board. "And with the extra seasoning, even our leftovers are going to be better than they were." She knows she's pushing it when she tries to relate, but she can't help commenting, "It was lucky that Jacob squirreled so much food away."

"That isn't what he would call it," John heaves. His fingers twist against his jeans. "He was prepared for anything that might happen. Luck had nothing to do with it."

"It was lucky for us," Kim points out. "And, you know... considering how much effort he put into hiding it, I bet he'd be relieved to know that you were able to find it after all this time."

"It doesn't matter what he'd think. He's dead."

John takes a sharp breath after he spits the comment out and Kim watches the regret bloom in real time, his scowl deepening as he stares at the dirt. Sometimes, she suspects he beats himself up like this because they refuse to do it for him. She wishes he would stop, already. It used to annoy her, but lately, it's only managed to make her feel terribly sad.

"Maybe it doesn't matter to him, but it might make you feel better."

John barks out a noise that hardly resembles a laugh. "Nothing is going to make me feel better ," he snaps, his anger flaring up and dissipating too abruptly for him to keep hold of it. All it leaves behind is resignation. "It doesn't matter. He'll just... My nightmares will latch on to anything. Jacob will never be happy in them." He sighs, burying his hands in his hair, twisting his fingers as though he might pull clumps out by the root. "Nothing I do helps. I just want it to stop ."

Kim wishes she had a solution for him, but she has nothing besides a lame suggestion to get more rest. That clearly hasn't worked for any of them, let alone John, who treats his nightmares like physical intruders instead of figments of his imagination. She doesn't know what they do to haunt him so badly, and she isn't sure she's ready to learn. She's only just now starting to get used to him as a person — she's not ready to unpack all of his damage.

John sighs and rubs his temples. "I knew Jacob didn't believe," he admits. "Not in the religious doctrine, anyway. But I didn't know that he had... planned around it. If I'd known, then maybe..."

John trails off, and Kim hums sympathetically after he fails to pick back up. Most of John's trauma is bespoke to him and him alone, but this is something that any survivor would be able to commiserate with. "Hindsight really does suck," she says. "Trust me, you're not the only one wondering what could've gone differently."

Usually, John is almost impossible to console, but it seems like the day has worn the fight right out of him. He only shakes his head miserably at her attempt to sympathize. "It wouldn't have been any better," he mutters. "It would only have been a different kind of worse."

"Maybe," Kim supposes, although she's not entirely convinced. There were plenty of points between the Project's arrival and the Collapse where a split in leadership would have benefited everybody. She's thought about it before now, remembering rare moments when she'd thought she'd seen something beneath the veneer of otherwise devout believers. She's wondered more than once what might've happened, if only they had convinced the right person to turn their back. God, she's hypothesized about a thousand missed opportunities left in that half-decade. There are a million ways things could have turned out better for even just one more person.

At last, Kim surrenders her side of the conversation — or what's left of it, anyway. "Well, for whatever it's worth, you've done us a big favor, and we're not going to let it go to waste. And a lot of people are going to benefit from your hard work."

John takes a deep, unhappy breath. "Yes," he says. He opens his mouth to soften the word with something else, something to hide the fact that he still depends on blind acceptance when overwhelmed, but he can't seem to come up with anything.

Kim doesn't need an excuse. She puts a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense under her gentle grip, anticipating more than simple reassurance. It offended her at first, how often he seemed to expect them to be violent with him. The idea that he thought either of them were capable of the same awfulness as the cult had pissed her off. But nowadays, she's come to accept that it's simply hardwiring left over from before. She's not sure there's anything to be done about it at this point.

There are no platitudes she can offer him that wouldn't sound insincere, so she relies on facts. "When you're ready, come inside and try to eat something. You look like you wore yourself out."

John's tension slowly ebbs. "I... may have overdone it," he admits somewhat reluctantly, which tells Kim that he definitely overdid it. He scrubs his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I needed to know I was right. I... needed him to know I hadn't forgotten."

So much for Jacob being too dead to care about. Despite everything, Kim can't help but sympathize. She feels his remorse in her own way whenever she thinks about her parents, and she knows that everybody carries something like that with them these days. She might not be haunted by her parents the way John is, but she thinks she can understand his sorrow. It might be the only thing about him she really gets.

"That's okay," she tells him, because it is, and somebody should tell him as much. "But you can't let it get in the way of taking care of yourself."

He nods, but Kim knows he doesn't believe her. He treats every attempt to reassure him as empty platitudes — not that she can blame him, really. But sometimes, like right now, she wonders if he would be less inclined to beat himself up so much if they'd just punished him the way he'd wanted from the start. It's just her exasperation talking, frustrated by his continued misery. John needs time, just like the rest of them, and beating him up ten months ago would only have made things worse.

A loud thud interrupts them, followed immediately by Carmina shouting, " Ow !" Nick starts to laugh, which keeps Kim from getting particularly worried about Carmina's safety, but she still gets up to investigate. John doesn't follow, although she catches him turning his head to watch her as she heads inside.

Nick, still seated at the table, laughs at their daughter as she lies sprawled back on the ground, her feet still guiltily stuck in the barrel.

"Told you, you're too big! No way you'd fit."

"I had to try ," Carmina grumbles as she kicks her way out of the barrel.

" Why ?" Kim laughs.

"I dunno, I just had to!"

"Too bad I don't have a blow-torch," Nick laments. "We could've put some eye-holes in it for you, like a helmet. Maybe then you'd be able to ride around in the truck-bed without your mom getting all worked up."

Carmina gasps. " Really ?"

Kim is quick to smother that particular idea. " No ," she cuts in, trying not to laugh at the mental image that her husband's conjured up. She tries to guilt Nick with an exasperated glance, but the bastard doesn't look even remotely repentant about suggesting armor to their child. "There has to be a better use for it than that. Anyway, armored or not, I don't want you to get thrown out of the back of a moving vehicle! I don't know why that's so unreasonable."

Carmina opens her mouth to argue the point, but she's abruptly distracted as she glances into the barrel. Rearranging her legs to sit on her knees, she pulls the barrel towards her. Kim would write it off if it weren't for Carmina's obvious confusion as she peers inside.

"There's more stuff in here," she reveals, tipping the barrel upright. She's uncharacteristically uneasy as she mentions, "Um, I think it's cult stuff..."

Kim is the first one to investigate, peering down into what she'd thought was an empty cache. She finds a circular metal disk wedged catty-corner into the barrel, revealing a hidden compartment. Reaching past the false bottom, Kim finds some black fabric and a box. She figures out the tee-shirts from the tags inside the collars of the factory-starched fabric, but hesitates to investigate the rest. The other packages stored away had been factory-sealed and clearly labeled cardboard boxes; there was no hiding what was in those. This, on the other hand, is a wooden cigar box with no seals, the Eden's Gate cross etched elaborately into the lid.

"Uh, John?" Nick calls as Kim sets the box down on top of the shirts. She wonders if she should open it, or if it might be some kind of trap. Nick looks deeply distrusting as he stares at the emblem and repeats louder, "John?"

John is more confused than any of them when he enters the scene. He scowls as soon as he sees the box sitting on the table, which would be hard to miss even without Nick gesturing widely towards it. "Where did you find that?" he asks, looking from Nick to Carmina as if they might have different stories to give him.

"Where do you think, Mars?" Nick exclaims, exasperated. "You wanna tell me what's inside?"

"I don't know ," John grits out, "I haven't looked ."

But it's clear from his expression that he has an idea of what they're dealing with. He crosses the room and hovers momentarily in front of the box, flipping the lid open before Kim can decide if that's a good idea. It could be a bomb. It could have a tripwire. She doesn't want her home ruined by Bliss all over again!

Of course, nothing happens. Kim supposes that if it had been a trap, Carmina would have set it off by climbing on top of it. The reality is much less ominous than she could have expected. She hovers near John as he pulls a clean moleskin journal out, watching him flip through the blank pages before dismissing it. He's slower to write off the folded mass of paper that he takes out next, although he doesn't examine it right away. Kim doesn't need him to unfold it to see the topography lines and highway markers printed on it.

"An empty journal, a map, and..."

John scowls at the twenty or so bullets that rattle around at the bottom of the cigar box. They can't be any different from the rest of the ammunition, but for some reason, the sight of them triggers a sense of dread in Kim. After all, what kind of ammunition would Jacob have thought needed to be secreted away? It can't be good. It can't possibly be safe .

"Ah," John says. Kim can't say for sure, but he seems almost disappointed.

"What are they?" Nick asks.

"Bullets we infused with Bliss." John tilts the box, examining the ammunition as best he can without touching it. Kim can't help but want to snatch Carmina away, but they're past the point of hiding these things from her. She has a right to understand just how dangerous the cult was. But there's also a lingering fear that somehow, Carmina might be affected by that god-awful drug, even if it's from ten-year-old bullets.

"You don't have to worry," John says. He doesn't need to look up for Kim to know he's talking to her. "The drug would be inert by now."

"What should we do with them, then?" Nick asks.

"Destroy them," John replies honestly. "If not that, then... store them away. We don't need them, but..."

"But it would be stupid to throw away good ammunition," Kim finishes as John trails off.

"Exactly."

None of them make a move to take either action. Kim supposes that the bullets aren't hurting anyone right now, just sitting there, and it seems like Carmina is more interested in the map than the ammunition. She's trying and failing to peek at the folded pages without undoing the whole mess. They didn't have a map in the bunker, which means that this will be Carmina's first chance to see her home spread out as a whole.

"Here, let me," Kim tells her daughter. Nick takes her cue, clearing a space on the table for her as she picks up the map. All eyes are on the accordion folds as they unravel, revealing more and more of the county. Black stars dot locations Kim remembers, like Lorna's and Rae Rae's, and circled points of nothing are marked in the middle of empty fields and mountain road turnoffs. The key is neatly printed in the upper left corner; beneath it is a uniform list of numbers, most likely coordinates, written briskly in red ink.

Even without the key, Kim thinks she understands the various marks around the map. Spread out in front of them, she can see double circles around power boxes, and she spots a few other locations with the same notation. Stars are placed next to several prominent people's homes, including their own. There are other things, too — little ink drawings of wolves, bears and deer in spots across the map. A few lakes have the names of fish written over them in the same blocky letters as the food packaging; the river bend nearest to their home has the word BASS written neatly along the bend.

Standing next to Kim, staring down at the map, John finally says, "This doesn't make any sense."

Nick opens his mouth to respond, probably with something sarcastic, but he thinks better of it and goes a different route. "Why would he hide this stuff?" he asks. "I mean, I get the bullets, I guess... but hiding the map seems weird."

John scowls at the box in his hands, closing the lid vengefully. "This is what the cache should have been," he says. "It should have more of this — more weapons, more maps, more intel . What about all of the blueprints we'd drawn up for housing? Instructions on how to reconnect the power grid, or the deeds to prove we owned the land — that would help, no matter what you believed! We were prepared for an apocalypse, but — where is it all? Sugar and rice and cigarettes aren't helping anybody!"

Kim can't blame John for getting upset, although she wishes he wouldn't shout around Carmina. Knowing that Jacob had planned for the possibility of the Project not being around is one thing, but it must be particularly rough to see obvious signs of a long-forgotten plan. Especially one that John hadn't been told anything about, with only a few disjointed clues left for him to piece back together.

To her surprise, it's Nick who comes to John's rescue, standing to draw John's attention before he completely spirals. "Come on, that's not true. You know we need food more than anything else." He gestures towards the open map. "Besides, there are plenty of other spots we can check. And now we know what we're looking for, right?"

John sighs heavily. "Yes," he agrees.

"Okay," Nick continues, "And now we've got rations and a tent to take with us, so we don't go through another long day like today. Right?"

John rolls his eyes. It's no secret that he hates it when they treat him like a child, but there's not enough outrage left in him to get angry about it. Instead, he drops his eyes to the ground and agrees with a despondent, "Yes."

"So, alright, maybe we aren't going to learn how to reconnect the power grid, or how to build a solar water purifier, or whatever. But at least we know we're not going to struggle through winter. Neither is Grace, or the gang, or the town."

"I know," John sighs. "I know." He drops the box onto the table, grimacing at the sound it makes. "The map alone is worth all of today's effort." He doesn't look convinced, but Kim can appreciate his almost-apology for what it is.

Carmina, who has been examining the map to avoid John's outburst, finally sees an opening to speak up. "Um... Where is our house?" she asks.

Nick squints over the map, trying to pinpoint the spot from his upside-down vantage point. Neither he nor Kim are quick enough to answer, though, as John reaches out and taps his finger against one of the black stars in the lower-left corner. He doesn't even have to look — he clearly memorized their location a long time ago.

"Here," he says.

"Oh, good," Nick sighs, "We got a star."

"It meant you had something useful that you weren't willing to give up." John's finger drags across the paper to the label on the river. "But I don't understand why he marked fishing spots. And hunting locations. And these..." He taps the red numbers. Kim spots a few red dots on the map, hopefully corresponding to the coordinates, but they seem to be in random locations. Whatever logic the Project was using, Kim can't make it out.

"I don't know what any of these are," John says. His voice lacks the anger from moments ago, replaced by a growing fascination with the mysterious notations. "They're all up in the mountains, so I think... Well, except...."

He moves around Carmina, who watches him with wide eyes as he seems to forget she's standing right next to him. John's given her more attention in the last hour than he has this entire year, but it figures that his indifference to her is what's sticking out.

"This one," he says, tapping a red dot near the old Eden's Gate compound. "This might be the furthest south... No, wait. This one." He moves his attention again, indicating another red spot closer to town.

"Are they more barrels?" Carmina asks.

John is momentarily startled to find Carmina right beside him, but he doesn't immediately leap away to put some distance back. Mostly because doing so would send him right into Kim's personal space. "It could be," he admits, only letting Carmina's input rattle him for a second before he turns his attention back to the map. "They must have been late additions. But... I didn't hear anything about these, and I don't remember seeing them on other maps. If they were for the Project, I would have found out about them eventually."

"Wouldn't they have told you upfront?" Nick asks, surprised when John chuckles in response.

"There were plenty of things I had to learn second-hand. There are probably more secrets I never learned at all. But — this cache was buried weeks before the Reaping. We kept our maps updated almost daily, but I don't remember either of these being marked. And there's one at the compound... I would remember emergency supplies being stored at the church."

Carmina stands on the opposite side of John from Kim, watching his hand move as he talks. Seeing the two of them side-by-side should probably upset Kim. She should be worried about her daughter putting too much trust in John — even if he wants to do the right thing now, he doesn't always understand what the right thing might be, and Carmina is at an impressionable age. If John says or does something wrong, he could shift Carmina's entire worldview.

In reality, though, Kim doesn't particularly mind. John is clearly not comfortable around Carmina, even though her lukewarm interest in him is hardly a threat, and he's highly cautious when he talks to her. Whether it's because Carmina is Nick's kid, or because he's bad with kids in general, Kim doesn't know. All she knows is that John is always careful with his words when Carmina is around.

"Stars are people's homes, right?" Carmina asks. "What about crosses?"

John frowns, tearing his eyes away from the mystery coordinates long enough to look where Carmina is pointing. "Shrines," he tells her. He points out a few more symbols, although it's clear he's doing it to keep her from asking him more questions. "Triangles are silos. Circles are established caches. Unfilled squares are locations we wanted. Filled squares are places we owned."

Carmina frowns at the map. "There are a lot of those."

Nick clears his throat loudly, and John immediately opens his mouth to apologize. Nick doesn't seem to need it, though, scratching at his chin as he tells Carmina, "The cult stole a lot of property right from underneath the real owners. They didn't actually own any of it. They just lied, and pretended."

John frowns, but he makes no effort to defend the cult one way or another. "And now the Project holds none of it," he says, gesturing at the map. "You could take it all back. Nobody will be there to stop you."

"Yeah, assuming any of it is still useful."

"We're one-for-one so far," Kim points out. Nick purses his lips at her taking John's side, but he's the one who suggested armoring up Carmina earlier — he can deal with a little payback. "Besides, I think we could all use a little direction right now. Something to work towards beyond surviving day-to-day."

"There could still be useful intelligence stored away," John says. "Jacob had plans for a multitude of projects we could make use of. The only problem I can see is that Joseph might have a similar map. We may have to compete with him for resources."

"From what I've heard, they've been keeping to themselves. Something about Mennonites with bows and arrows, I don't know." Nick waves a hand dismissively over the map. "If we can use cult resources against Joseph, then I'm all for it."

"That makes two of us," John agrees.

Kim's eyes rove across the map, following the river eastward. The cattle ranch is marked by a star and a cross, but there isn't much there to see along the southern border; for whatever reason, the cult focused most of their resources on the northern half of the valley. It isn't until the now-jungles of the Henbane's territory that more outposts pop up, although she can't imagine any of them are used now. According to what's left of the rumor mill, the cult has mostly remained on what used to be Dutch's island. So far, they haven't seemed interested in making contact with outsiders, much less trying to make amends — if John and Nick do go out and encounter some cultists, she can't know how it will turn out. They seem to want to keep to themselves — but how long can that possibly last?

It's a worry that she'll have to deal with later. She's already anxious enough for the present; she doesn't need to add future paranoia to the mix. For now, she can focus on appreciating the stark benefits laid out on the table in front of her. Even if Joseph has his own map, he doesn't have gasoline, or working vehicles, or guns . He doesn't have radio communication across the entire county, whereas monopolizing the resources will only take Kim a few quick calls. Anything the cult tries to pull off will have to be done much more slowly, and with Joseph being in control of it all. It's a strange way for the tables to turn, but Kim can't say she doesn't like the satisfaction it brings, knowing that they're at least one step ahead of the Project. It only took, what, nine years?

"Well, damn, John," Nick says at last, "Way to set the bar high for next time."

"Don't expect more miracles," John replies, lifting one hand neutrally. But there's something in his expression, a sort of awkward bashfulness, that reminds Kim of Nick's own humble pride. Kim's surprised to find that humility is a good fit for John. It's better than the cold arrogance he used to display, that's for sure. Who knows — maybe in a few years, it won't take dragging him through one long, emotionally-draining day to get him to open up. If they're lucky, it won't take that long, but knowing John, he'll fight it every step of the way.

That's okay, though. Kim's got more than enough patience to wait him out.

[badchoicesposts]

Don’t Dream It’s Over Chapter 12

Series Summary: Liam and Ali thought that their relationship was perfect, but their whole world came crashing down when Constantine called him back to Cordonia. Four years later they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party, determined to make things between them work even if it isn’t always easy.

In this AU, Liam and MC (Ali Moonessar) dated for a year in New York while Leo was still crown prince. They broke up when Constantine asked Liam to come back to Cordonia, but they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party before the social season. The story will contain flashbacks, which will be italicized, of their relationship and follow them as they try to navigate the season with Ali as a suitor. I’ve messed around with the timeline a bit so that it fits the story better. I’ve also added in a few OCs of my own.

Pairing: Liam x MC (Ali Moonessar) Platonic! Drake x MC

DISCLAIMER: I’ve changed up the timeline of the social season a bit to fit my story better. I’ve based it off of some research I did on the British Social Season.

Taglist: @flowerpowell, @ao719, @kingliam2019, @emceesynonymroll, @hopefulmoonobject, @dcbbw, @qammh-blog​, @liamxs-world​, @drakesensworld​, @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction​, @lauradowning29​, @texaskitten30​, @senseofduties​

A/N: The flashback of this chapter picks up right after the flashback from the one in chapter 11 and was one of my favorites to write! I also really channeled my inner Gossip Girl for the article lol. This is my first time ever posting a fic. Please let me know if you enjoyed it and would like to read more. I thrive on validation, lol. Thanks for reading!

Catch Up: Masterlist

Liam approached the door to his and Drake’s apartment with Bastien trailing closely behind him. He had worked through the morning and was able to get back to the apartment in time for lunch. Bastien, who had been with Leo for the past few months, had managed to get himself switched over onto Liam’s guard for a few days so he could check in on Drake. 

Liam, who had expected to have to drag Drake out of bed and hide all of the alcohol in the apartment for the rest of the day, was surprised to hear loud music playing from somewhere in the apartment. He furrowed his brows when he recognized the song to be Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! from the Mamma Mia soundtrack. It was something he only knew because Ali liked the movie so much. 

Liam and Bastien both approached the kitchen cautiously, neither one of them sure what to expect, and were met with the sight of Ali and Drake, both bent over the stove. They each had their faces inches away from a frying pan, where they seemed to be studying a cooking pancake very closely. 

“It’s time to flip it,” Drake said, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Not yet,” Ali responded. “It’s too soon.”

“No, it’s bubbling. I’m going to flip it.”

“Hold on! Just a few more seconds,” she responded, grabbing his arm to keep it at his side. “Okay, now!” 

Liam and Bastien watched as Drake slowly lifted a spatula and placed it under the pancake. Both he and Ali still had their faces as close to the pan as they could get without getting burned. 

“Careful. Careful! CAREFUL!” Ali repeated the word more intensely each time as Drake slowly lifted the pancake and flipped it over to reveal that it was perfectly browned on the other side. 

“YES!” they both screamed at the same time, jumping up from their spot and pulling each other into a hug. 

Liam held back a smile and cleared his throat. The both pulled away and Ali smiled even wider when she saw him.

“Liam!” she said happily.

She was about to launch herself into his arms when she caught sight of Bastien beside him and straightened her posture. 

“I, uh, mean, Prince Liam,” she said, trying to make her voice sound casual and nodding in his direction. 

“It’s okay. That’s just Bastien,” Drake said. 

“Hi, Bastien. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Ali!” she said, smiling happily again.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Bastien said, holding back a confused smile himself as he took in the scene before him.

“What are the two of you doing,” Liam asked.

“I wanted pancakes. This is the first one we haven’t burned yet,” Ali said, pointing at a stack of burnt pancakes on the counter, as Drake hummed along to the music. 

“Are you drunk,” Liam asked, placing his hands on her waist and bringing his face close to hers so he could smell her breath. 

“No,” Ali tried to say with her mouth closed, her eyes going wide to attempt a look of innocence. 

Liam raised his brows, giving her a knowing look. 

“Maybe a little,” she said, bringing her hand up and placing her thumb and forefinger together to symbolize “a little”. “But, it’s all Drake’s fault. He was all sad, and he got me sad, so we played that game to feel better.” 

“Game?” Liam asked.

“Yeah. That game. Drake, what was the name of the game?” she said, her face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to remember the name of it. 

Drake, who had been previously bopping his head to the song and mumbling “Is there a man out there? Someone to hear my prayer” under his breath, jumped out of his reverie. 

“Never Have I Ever,” he said. 

Liam was about to respond when the smell of burnt pancakes filled the air. He immediately turned to shut the burner off and remove the burnt pancake from the stove before looking back over to the two of them. He sighed, realizing that at least this was better than Drake being completely depressed. 

“Why don’t you two go sit on the couch while I finish the pancakes,” Liam said to the two of them. 

Ali looked over at Drake hesitantly.

“Do you want to remind him that he can’t cook or should I?” she dropped her voice into what she thought was a whisper but was actually just her regular voice in a higher octave.

“You do it. He likes you more than me,” Drake responded in the same tone. 

Liam looked over to Bastien, who was now desperately trying to hold in his laughter, and rolled his eyes. 

“I think I can manage. You go,” he said corralling them into the living room. 

He returned to the kitchen to the sound of their giggles coming from the living room and smiled at the thought of the two most important people in his life getting along. 

~~~~~~

Lady Alison Moonessar and Drake Walker’s Hidden Romance

Lady Alison Moonessar of House Beaumont is the newest lady on the social scene vying for Prince Liam’s hand in marriage. We first saw Lady Alison the night of (and the morning after!) Prince Liam’s bachelor party in New York. She claims that she and the Prince are “just two old friends who have managed to find their way back into each other’s lives”, and we’ve all been trying to figure out just how “friendly” they are with each other since. I mean, “old friends” don’t kiss each other like that! But, what we didn’t see coming was her relationship with the Prince’s best friend, the tall, dark, and handsome Drake Walker. You know, the guy in the denim shirt that’s always by his side? 

Remember how we were all wondering why she wasn’t watching The Derby with all of the other suitors? Well, it turns out that she was a little too busy getting up close and personal with Drake Walker to worry about making small talk with the rest of the ladies. (We can’t really blame her. Look at those abs!)

And it seems the two have a thing for horses. Our sources caught them taking a ride across the palace grounds this afternoon before stopping for an impromptu snuggle in the grass. Talk about romantic! Just look at the way she looks up at him, total heart eyes. 

But, what does this mean for her relationship with the Prince?! We assumed she was his favorite suitor (for obvious reasons), and we thought that she was the forerunner in the competition for his hand in marriage. And when did her relationship with his broody best friend start? Did she start seeing them both at the same time? Looks like Ali’s been a bad girl! But, we totally love her for it! And don’t worry, Prince Liam. Even if things don’t work out her, you’ll always have us to keep you warm at night. 

“What did you do?” Bertrand yelled angrily, as he paced back and forth in front of her. 

Ali cringed as she looked at the pictures in the article again. There were photos of her on Drake’s back at the derby and him leaning against her with her arms wrapped around his bare shoulders after he finished his push-ups. The press had conveniently cropped Liam out of the pictures, so no one knew that he was literally standing about two feet away from them. 

They had also somehow managed to get pictures of her and Drake today on the palace grounds. He had his arm around her as they sat in the grass, and she was smiling up at him as he spoke. He was kissing her forehead, and she was relaxing in his embrace. The pictures made the two of them look terrible. There was no way around that fact. 

She wrapped her arms around herself nervously biting her lip as she sat on her bed next to a silent Maxwell. She had screwed up big time, and now she wasn’t sure what was going to happen. 

“I… I didn’t mean to. Liam was with us when the pictures from The Derby were taken, and Drake and I were just taking a break from riding earlier. I didn’t know that anyone was watching us,” she stammered out, shrinking back into herself. 

She didn’t handle arguments or yelling very well. It made her nervous. 

“What is your relationship with Drake Walker?” Bertrand turned to her, his tone accusatory. 

Ali immediately got defensive. She was here because she was in love with Liam, and Bertrand knew that. His accusation only seemed to make the situation worse.

“Drake is a friend! We met five years ago when he and Liam were living in New York,” she said, her jaw clenched. 

“And there are no romantic feelings between the two of you? No indiscretions that could come to light?” Bertrand prompted.

“No! I love Liam. Drake is just a friend!”

“Well, it doesn’t look like that,” Bertrand returned to pacing in front of her. “We need to do damage control. Half of the country is calling you a whore.”

Ali scoffed at his words, a few stray tears falling down her face. 

“Of course they are. Don’t reporters have anything more important to talk about?” she said sarcastically. “Why can’t they just stay out of my love life?” 

“The site that published the article is the biggest gossip blog in Cordonia. It’s job is literally to report stuff like this about nobles,” Maxwell piped up. 

“And, it’s not just your love life anymore. Prince Liam is the future king of this country. His business, and the business of anyone of the suitors, will always be public knowledge,” Bertrand said. 

“Who are their sources?” she asked. 

“The blog has a few reporters, but it relies mostly on tips from ‘anonymous sources’,” Maxwell responded. 

“So, anyone can just send in information?” 

Maxwell nodded.

“What do I do?” she asked, wiping away her tears. 

“I need to make a few calls. We’ll make a statement, and then you need to focus on showing the press and the people that the article hasn’t negatively affected your relationship with the Prince,” Bertrand said, taking out his phone and exiting Ali’s room. 

“I have to talk to Liam. Do you know where he is?” she asked Maxwell, taking out her phone and pulling up his contact information. 

“I haven’t seen him all day,” Maxwell said, as she brought the phone up to her ear. 

“Straight to voicemail. He can’t really believe this can he?” she asked frantically. “I mean he knows what Drake and I are like together. We’re just friends. Give me your phone.”

Maxwell handed it over, a confused look on his face. She dialed Liam’s number and was both relieved and anxious to hear him pick up.

“Liam! It’s me. Please, let me explain!” she practically shouted through the phone.

All she heard was silence on the other end for a moment, before Liam sighed. 

“Meet me in my office,” he responded.

“I’ll be there,” Ali sighed in relief. 

She handed the phone back to Maxwell before asking him to show her where Liam’s office was. She followed him through the palace halls, nervously tugging at her shirt sleeve. Maxwell gave her a quick thumbs up when they stopped in front of his door, and Ali fully prepared herself to have the argument she knew was coming. 

Liam’s office was a massive. There was a large mahogany desk in the middle of the room, and the wall behind it was made up entirely of bookshelves. The large bay window on the wall to the left of the desk was wide open, allowing a light breeze to blow through the room, and Ali looked over to the small sofa on the opposite wall to see Liam and Drake both sitting comfortably, each clutching a glass of whiskey. 

“Um, hi,” she said hesitantly, taking in the sight of the two of them.

They seemed to have been having a serious conversation, but they both smiled at her when she came in. 

“Drake, can you give us a moment?” Liam asked, standing and walking over to his desk. 

Drake patted her shoulder good-naturedly as he walked by, and she could feel Liam’s gaze on the two of them. 

“If you’re here to tell me that I shouldn’t listen to the article then you don’t have to bother,” Liam said, leaning against his desk casually.

“I don’t?” 

“No, Drake already has. He came running in here quite frantically if I’m honest,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

“So, you’re not mad at me?” she asked, still surprised. 

She knew Liam was a reasonable man, but she still expected some type of argument. His eyes softened as he took in her bloodshot eyes and obvious upset. 

“No, I’m not mad. At least, not anymore,” he said with a sigh. 

He pulled her into a hug, allowing her to relax her body, before guiding her over to the sofa. 

“I wasn’t exactly happy when I first saw the article. The pictures of the two of you together coupled with the insinuations made in the article don’t look very good. I know the two of you were good friends back in New York, and if I’m being honest, I always wondered why it was so easy for Drake to open up to you,” Liam said, an edge of anger in his voice. 

Ali reached over and grabbed his hand in hers, squeezing gently. 

“My first instinct was to find Drake and… well, let’s just say it’s a good thing I didn’t act on it,” he said, his cheeks beginning to turn red from embarrassment. “But, then he spent about twenty minutes rambling about how the article wasn’t true and talking about how much you loved me. It was rather convincing, but…I just have to make sure. Are you sure you have no feelings for him, that there’s nothing between the two of you?” 

There was an edge of hesitation in Liam’s voice as he asked the question. 

“No! Liam, I love you and only you. Drake is a good friend. That’s all,” she said, cupping his cheek in her hand and looking pleadingly into his eyes.

“I love you too.”

Liam placed his hand on top of hers and turned his head to kiss her palm. Ali smiled at him and threw herself into his arms, relieved to hear that he wasn't upset. However, she noticed that he only halfheartedly returned her embrace. 

“What is it?” she asked, pulling herself out of his arms. 

“This isn’t good, Ali. Regardless of my feelings, the way the press views a person has a direct impact on the way people do, and right now they’re not very happy with you.”

“I know. Bertrand said that have of the country is calling me a whore,” she said with a humorless laugh. “I tried not to look at the things they were saying, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, wiping away the single tear that fell down her cheek.

“Not really, but I have a feeling that things are only going to get worse.”

“Ali, I-,” Liam trailed off as her phone went off, signaling that she had a text message. 

“It’s Bertrand. He has an interview set up in half an hour. He wants to know if you’d be okay with us telling people that you were with Drake and I at The Derby,” she said, scrolling through his messages. “He says it’s important for people to see that you’re okay with the two of us being friends, and that our relationship hasn’t been affected by the article.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Liam,” she said, hastily wiping away the last of her tears and standing up. “I should get going.” 

“We’ll figure this out,” he reassured her. “Everything will be okay.”

“I know. Now that my meltdown is over I feel like I can handle anything,” she attempted to joke. 

It was true that she felt better now that she had been able to properly get all of her feelings out. She felt stronger than he had just minutes before, but she knew things wouldn’t just magically fix themselves. She would have to do that herself.

“You look like you’ve been crying,” Bertrand said with a scowl as she met him in one of the unused offices in the palace. 

“I have been,” she said with a glare in his direction. 

Bertrand sighed, and began to fiddle with her hair and straighten out her clothes. 

“How did you manage to set this up so fast?”

“The article was published today, and even though there are pictures, so far everything is still speculation. Every reporter wants the true story and a direct statement. It wasn’t very difficult.” 

Ali nodded and grabbed onto Bertrand’s arm to keep him from moving away from her.

“Bertrand, will you stay with me during the interview,” she asked, hating how vulnerable she sounded. 

She knew she could do this. Well, even if she didn’t feel like she could, she would have to anyway. But, it still felt better to have someone who was looking out for her there. Regardless of how pushy or annoying Bertrand could be, she knew that he still had her best interests at heart, and even if he refused to admit it, he did care for her in his own way.

Bertrand looked as if he were about to scold her for asking, but his eyes softened as he took in her broken appearance..

“Of course,” he responded. “Ana de Luca will be here any minute. Just remember that you want to emphasize that you and Drake Walker are just friends, and Prince Liam has no problem with that.” 

Ali nodded, and sure enough, there was a knock on the door about a minute later. Ana de Luca entered the room and shook hands with both Ali and Bertrand before they all took a seat. She pulled her phone, a pen, and notebook out of her bag before turning back to the two of them.

“Do you mind if I record audio of this conversation?” she asked. 

“Of course not,” Ali said, trying to place a convincing smile on her face. 

“So, Lady Alison, what do you have to say in regards to the rumors going around about your relationship with Drake Walker?” she asked. 

Ali took a breath before she began to speak, psyching herself up for what she was about to do.

“I can understand why those photos may be taken out of context, but Drake Walker and I have known each other for years, and the two of us are just good friends.”

“You say that you’ve known each other for years,” she began, clicking her pen, “How did the two of you meet?”

“We actually met through Prince Liam. As most people already know, he and Drake Walker have been friends for most of their lives, and Liam was actually the one to introduce the two of us. In fact, even though the pictures in the article only depict Drake and I, all three of us were together during The Derby,” she said calmly.

So far so good. She was innocent. All she had to do was tell the truth. 

“Just out of curiosity, what was happening in the pictures from that day?” 

“Prince Liam and Drake were placing friendly bets on the horses, and the loser was supposed to do push-ups with me on their back. Drake lost. It was as simple as that.”

“What about today?” 

This was starting to feel more and more like an interrogation, and it was making Ali uneasy. 

“I don’t have much experience riding horses, so Drake offered to spend the afternoon helping me get accustomed to them,” she answered honestly, hoping that she wasn’t making a fool of herself for admitting that she wasn’t good at riding. “After a while, we decided to take a break.”

“And you thought it was appropriate to so physically affectionate with him? To lean on him and let him kiss you?” she asked casually, a hint of something slightly sinister in her voice. 

Ali tensed at the woman’s veiled accusation. 

“I’m an affectionate person, and when I’m comfortable with someone, I don’t hesitate to show that. Drake is like a brother to me and him kissing me on the forehead was completely innocent.”

“What does Prince Liam have to say about all of this?” Ana de Luca asked.

“Prince Liam knows that my relationship with Drake is purely platonic, and he is completely okay with that,” she said, trying to refrain from sounding too defensive.

Bertrand could sense her growing agitation and nodded at Ana de Luca, signalling for her to turn off the recording.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. de Luca, but that is all we will be saying for now,” he said.

“Of course, thank you,” she said, standing up and gathering her things. “This interview should be out by tomorrow.” 

Bertrand and Ali watched with bated breath as she exited the room.

“What do we do now?” Ali asked, finally feeling as if she could relax.

“We wait,” Bertrand said. 

[nehswritesstuffs]

Sounds like you having lots of fun things to write about 😊I wish I could read your One Piece fics but I haven’t ever watched that show (I’m sure it’s good though) 😄No worries if not but any Whouffaldi fic updates soon?🙂

To answer the last part of the ask first: I plan on it, but I also plan on there being a lot more updates during the year-end holidays, so there’s a bit of hoarding that shall commence until later on in the month and December. There is actually a plan lol pls be patient or the groove will be thrown off

Now the rest of this is going to be me as a not-quite-One Piece-evangelist, because it is one of those things that I recommend with a HUGE caveat, and not for the reason people think.

A lot of people fear it because it’s so long (I just read the newest chapter, 1066, early yesterday morning and sobbed like a baby). That’s actually not the thing I warn against the most! If you can read long-form fics like The Time That We Love Best or The Thick of UNIT, or are able to sit through long and storied shows like Doctor Who, then I don’t think the length is what’ll be the potential problem.

It’s that the series is rather high on the Anime Bullshit Scale.

What is the Anime Bullshit Scale? It’s a scale that goes anywhere from low on the list with slice of life and mild whimsy (Kiki’s Delivery Service, Chii’s Sweet Home, Yotsuba&!, etc) to balls-to-the-wall-runs-on-nonsenseoleum (Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann, Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo, Excel Saga, etc). One Piece is not at the tip-top of the scale due to some genuinely emotional and grounded moments, but it’s staggeringly up there thanks to how wacky it gets. There are even some people who really love anime who can’t go too high on the scale, and that’s fine, and I think not knowing about this scale is what creates bad recommendations that turn people off to anime and manga as a whole. You don’t go straight into Attack on Titan as your first anime, more like Cowboy Bebop or Azumanga Daioh, since those are milder than some of the other offerings. Not unless you’ve got a very specifically-tailored rec, such as Sakamoto Days if you’re a fan of John Wick (or so I’ve heard; never seen the Wicks), despite it being up there on the Scale.

Did you like Sailor Moon as a kid? Maybe up through the Ancient Egypt arc of Yu-Gi-Oh? Most of Naruto ‘cause we don’t talk about that show’s filler? Maybe you enjoyed stuff like Chowder or The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack or the Amazing World of Gumball or even a good chunk of early Spongebob Squarepants? Chances are that you might like One Piece. Personally, my attention is usually better with reading, so I’m a mostly-manga person (and there’s many websites with decent-to-great quality scans and translations that beat what I had available to me in high school, so you don’t have to worry about buying +100 volumes if your budget/living space isn’t ready or your local library isn’t carrying it (despite not being the longest manga series, it is the best-selling, so don’t feel bad)), but there is something to be said about watching. Go with the Funimation dub (which I think is on Crunchyroll and Netflix). It does have a bit of filler and it does exaggerate... erm... certain artwork quirks a bit more, but it is overall fairly loyal and coherent in comparison to the manga. Plus the pace is different--more cinematically measured in a way--and you can leave it on in the background if that’s what you need.

(Please take this time to pour one out for Mayumi Tanaka and Colleen Clickenbeard’s vocal chords, holy fcking shit.)

So, yeah, I do recommend One Piece if you’ve got a tolerance for wacky and long-form and lots of emotions everywhere. It’s pretty easy to start too: just go with chapter and/or episode one. Then you too can confuse the hell out of people by making references to it out of context, like saying how Worst Hypnotist Michael Jackson’s best friend is a wine pun who he met by defeating in a dance battle and now they simp together because that’s what bros do, naturally.

[resetmypatientviolence]

Picture to Burn (Seth x MC x Matt)

Picture to Burn-- Part 1 of this fic series (I think?)

Word count: 1,499 Pairing: Seth x Terrance [MC] x Matt

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Language; Matt doesn’t actually make an appearance, FYI

Summary: How was Terrance supposed to leave Seth alone in after the disaster of a comedy show? For that matter, how could she NOT kiss him? She didn’t think anything of the paparazzi’s stolen picture until the next morning when everybody wants to know about her “Mystery Man”. It would all be okay, maybe even great, if she also didn’t have the same secret moments with Matt Rodriguez, the actor with a heart of gold.

Suggested Song Accompaniment: Bad at Love-- Halsey

Note: I have a name for my Drake x MC x Liam fic series (finally), “Supposed to Be” which you can find here. The 3rd chapter is coming soon! Thank you for your support of my writing! Enjoy!

Terrance pulled her head up, reluctantly; blonde curls falling over her bare shoulder, tank top strap slipped off her shoulder. The water Seth got for her before he headed back to his apartment was untouched. She groaned. At least her head wasn’t swirling. She had worse mornings.

 Propping herself on an elbow, she grabbed the lukewarm water and drank it in big gulps, last night coming back into focus. Seth’s disaster of a show. The kiss in the dressing room. The first round of drinks. Then another. Then another bar. Then back to her apartment, ordering pizza, and drinking beers and watching D-grade movies. Kisses, and lots of them, some small and others deep and steamy, peppered between everything.

 Finished, Terrance smiled to herself, setting the glass back on the nightstand. Seth was drunk too, but he still tucked her in, Terrance giggling the whole time, and gave her water. She touched her lips. She didn’t want him to go, stalling him with insistent kisses, but she grew too tired to keep up her resistance. Though, what were they waiting for?

 Looking at the door, she sighed, quietly. Nothing was official with Matt… or him… but why did she feel so conflicted and guilty when she looked into Seth’s eyes? Why would she be breaking somebody’s heart eventually? Could she… not? “Or you can just stop kissing cute boys…” she muttered to herself, dragging herself out of bed. She came here to act, after all. Not be caught up in confusion, even if nothing was official. It felt so small town.

 It was a quiet morning—she still had time before she had to be on set. Coffee brewing, Terrance showered, and changed, entering the kitchen just as the pot beeped. “Ugh, finally.” Pouring herself a cup, she sat on the counter and pulled out her phone for the first time. She used to scroll through it half asleep in bed… but ever since her newfound fame, she needed to be sharp—focused. Who knew if a another surprise interview would appear the morning of?

 As the new usual, notifications everywhere. Thousands of followers. She posted a picture of her coffee. Likes, instantly. She exhaled, slow. It was… she didn’t know how to feel. Matt couldn’t even relate. A text, from Chazz, well, multiple.

 Ter! Is that your neighbor??

 Girl!! Spill!

Text me the second—and I mean—the second you wake up!!

Puzzled, she tilted her head. I do live by people, yeah.

 In the picture!

What????????

 “Oh, shit.” The photographer. Matt. Chazz sent the photo, accompanied by an article from TMZ. Hollywood’s Newest IT Girl and her Mystery Man—CAUGHT!

 She rubbed her temple. There was no denying it was her, hair, smile and all. Their lips, barely touching, pulling away from the kiss, but the photographer still got the shot. Seth’s hands wrapped around her back, gripping the fabric of her dress, like he never wanted to let her go. She gulped and set the cup on the counter.

 The tabloids picked it up. Want to know everything about him and you. My inbox is exploding. On my way to now to take you to your shoot—you have some answers to give.

 What if there isn’t any?????

 WTF TER?!

 She slouched, sinking lower and lower into herself. “Shit,” she breathed. None of this would have mattered, of course, if she hadn’t been tangled up with Matt.

 Matt was... amazing. New, fast paced, grand, and yet, genuine. It was like she could see through him and he to her. He wasn’t just an actor, he was a person who just wanted to feel normal once in a while. She knew he liked how she grounded him and made those parts of him flourish in their short time as more close than friends—and coworkers—should be.

 Seth was also… amazing. Soft, gentle, funny, and familiar. Like home. That might be the Midwest connection, but it was deeper than that. She lost herself in his blue eyes and she would do anything to protect him, and him to her. With him, she felt at home, at ease, comfortable in the insanity of her new life.

 Nothing was official with either. But, somehow, she felt that she picked the two men in Hollywood who might actually care if she was conflicted between two people. She should have told them, but life was coming at her all too fast. She just wanted to see them when she could and see if there was a connection for something more there. If there was. And for Matt… she could only hope he didn’t pay attention to the tabloids anymore. She’s rather tell him in person than have him see… that. The picture.

 Another text notification. Not from Chazz. Matt. Her heart leapt to her throat. She was about to open it when the knocking started. “Coming!” She slid off the counter and nervously rubbed her hands together.

 She opened it and there was Seth. He offered a smile. “Hey, Iowa, got some more coffee?”

 She nodded stiffly. “Yeah, help yourself.” He walked in and she popped her head out into the hallway… just making sure nobody was there. There wasn’t.

 Terrance bit her lip and joined him in the tiny kitchen, picking up her still warm cup. She really should write a book on how to feel like a shitty person within one minute. Bestseller. “Umm… so…” she started. “Thanks for the water, it was a lifesaver.”

 Seth chuckled, eyes crinkling. “Always, Iowa.” They paused. Her phone on the counter with Matt’s text. “So… that picture….”

 She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Seth, I didn’t know that he’d follow me and get that and…”

 “No, no, it’s okay. Well, I mean an invasion of our privacy, but look at this.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed her the screen, filled with notifications too. Texts, emails…. She squinted her eyes and cocked her head.

 “They figured out my mystery man, huh?”

 “Clubs are asking me—asking me—to do stand up for them. Can you believe it?” He sounded incredulous, but Terrance saw the smile on his lips. It warmed her heart. Well, maybe one good thing came from the picture. Could that outweigh the bad?

 She kissed him on the cheek, smiling. He raised his eyebrows but then smiled, truly. “I’m happy that that happened, Seth. You deserve it.” He sipped his coffee, free hand tucking a wild curl behind her ear.

 “The next thing… what do you want me to do next?”

 “Hmm?”

 “If people ask, I’ve got tabloids wanting to interview me, to give the scoop on you, us, and… it’s not my place to speak for you, if you want to say anything.” Her phone buzzed again. She broke her gaze from Seth’s blue eyes. Matt’s name, again. She frowned, heartbeat speeding. Oh god oh god oh god.

 “I… it’s a little crazy, isn’t it?” she said, shaking her head. “Just a kiss and bam, suddenly everybody cares about my personal life. I shouldn’t be complaining… but…” Terrance trailed when his happy smile was gone. He stared into his coffee. She grit her teeth and replayed her words. Just a kiss.

 Seth was still quiet. Her phone, buzzed, again. “Listen,” she said, moving next to him, nudging his side. “Please don’t talk to the tabloids. If… if this is something, let’s have this move at our pace, okay? Not what Hollywood wants.”

 He nodded, looking at her now. “Will do, Iowa.” Then, he cupped her face, fingertips lingering on her skin before he kissed her lips, so gentle. So unlike the one kiss in the hallway of their apartment the moment they entered it last night…. Terrance shivered. “For the record, I do hope that this will be something, someday,” he said after the kiss.

 Me too, Terrance wanted to say, but couldn’t because she wasn’t sure of the truth herself. Instead, she kissed him, biting his lower lip exactly how he liked it. A small moan from the base of his throat. And suddenly, she was writing the sequel of How to Feel Like a Shitty Person in One Minute, aptly titled How to Become a Bigger Piece of Shit Than You Already Are. “I think you have some new jokes to write up, Mystery Man,” she whispered.

 He laughed, eyes twinkling, bright with possibility. “That I do, Iowa. Have a… er, story to tell when you get back from your shoot today.”

 Terrance picked up her phone. It buzzed. Again. The third book of her human shit trilogy was on its way. “I’ll have a novel by the end of this movie.”

 Seth grinned. “See you later, Terrance.” He kissed her cheek and headed out. Instantly, the ease, despite the situation at hand, disappeared. Terrance grit her teeth, and stared at her phone. Now or never.

 Taking a deep breath, she swiped, opening up Matt’s messages.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the fiction. All rights go to Pixelberry Studios.

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Time & Tide, Ch. 2 (”Come and Turn the Tide”)

In 1985, a Time Master grabs young Lisa Snart for the Refuge…but there’s no way she’s going anywhere without her brother.

And years later, when Miranda and Jonas die and the Time Council refuses to do anything, Rip Hunter turns to his oldest friend…

(Based on what was originally meant to be a throwaway line in “Secret Santa.” There will be CaptainCanary. Because it’s me.)

Can also be read here at AO3 and here at FF.net. (As can Chapter 1 and the prologue.) Many thanks to @larielromeniel!

What you gonna do when things go wrong? What you gonna do when it all cracks up? What you gonna do when the love burns down? What you gonna do when the flames go up?

(Simple Minds, "Alive and Kicking," 1985)

"You know this is a bad idea." Lisa's voice isn't disapproving. She knows better. Instead, it's resigned. And that's a tone she's become very used to taking with her older brother over the years.

"It's Miranda and Jonas, Lis." Len watches her intently through the viewscreen on his ship. He'd rather see her in person, but the Solace is actually keeping an eye on an untimely outbreak of typhoid fever in 2022. "You know them. You helped deliver Jonas! I can't let Rip deal with this on his own."

"Yes, but…" The professional time ship captain nibbles her lip like the little girl he remembers, then sighs. "This is why we're not supposed to have attachments," she tells him with resignation. "You know that."

"I think the Time Council would be better if they did." Len holds up his hands when she starts to retort. "Yeah, yeah, I know." It's an old argument. "But I'm helping. I'll do my best to keep my nose clean. Clean-ish. I just wanted to update you."

That gets him a smile. "Thank you," Lisa tells him. "Now…don't tell me more. What I don't know, I can't tell."

She might act like she's a rule-follower, these days, but that's the sister he remembers. Len grins.

"That's it," he tells her, leaning back in his chair, "be a rebel. Fight the evil Empire."

Lisa smiles again, but the expression is a little torn, and Len's already regretting his quip. When she starts to speak again, there's something sad and regretful in her tone.

"Len," she says, using his real name, which she rarely does, "someone needs to protect time. And they saved us."

Yeah, to do their bidding and their dirty work, he thinks. But all he says is, "I'll be careful."

They both know he probably won't.

He keeps his stop at the Refuge brief. Mary is enigmatic as always, but Len continues to think she knows more than she's letting on, both about Rip's quest and the Time Council's decision to ignore Vandal Savage's actions. Still, she's one of the very few people he trusts. He gives her a few new time-travel books he's found; they chat about the newest children added to her flock.

When he leaves, she doesn't ask where he's going.

"Welcome back onboard, Captain Tyler. It is good to see you."

"Good to hear you, Gideon." Len pauses in the bigger ship's hatch. He always considers it only polite to interact with the AIs, and Gideon has quite the personality. They get each other. "How's he doing?"

A pause. "As well as can be expected," the AI finally says, quietly. "This…plan, it is letting him maintain hope. I'm not quite sure of the wisdom of it, but there is that."

"Hope's a powerful thing," Len acknowledges.

"Indeed."

The much smaller Falcon is parked next to the Waverider in this deserted lot in Central City, both ships cloaked and waiting. Len knows that Rip issued his invitation to eight people, all from this time, presumably chosen from the dossiers he'd assembled, but the other man has done some of his own research, too. There could be additions.

"Ah! There you are." Rip is striding down the hall, and the energy about the man convinces Len that Gideon is precisely correct in her assessment. He's using the hope of this gambit to keep himself going. "They should be here soon. If they're coming, but I think they will." He nods at Len. "You were right…"

"There are those words again."

Rip ignores him. "… I think it was the correct call to tell them the true nature of the mission. None of them liked the notion that time would forget them."

"Not surprised. These hero-y types generally…"

"Captain Hunter, Captain Tyler," Gideon cuts in, "there is a group of eight people outside. They're rather obviously wondering if they're in the right place. It's time."

Eight. So all of them had agreed to come. The two men exchange a glance, then start for the hatch.

Once they're there, Rip waits more or less patiently for it to open, but Len leans out just a little, still concealed by the Waverider's cloak, and studies them. The inventor, the hawks, the…

"Aaahh," he breathes, watching. "You did invite the assassin. And she agreed."

"Of course. You recommended her mostly highly…" Rip cuts his gaze to his friend, then sighs. "Oh lord," he mutters. "This is part of your…fetish...for dangerous people, isn't it?"

"No. Yes…maybe." He tilts his head to consider the group. "Wait. Who's the…"

But Rip's heading down now, lifting his voice to greet the people he's promised to make legends, and Len's left standing in the ship. He's pretty sure the Waverider's captain means him to stay and watch, rather than putting himself out there and confusing the matter.

He shrugs, and follows anyway.

"…you imagine what a time ship would look like in, say, Victorian England?" he hears Rip explain, just as he uncloaks the Waverider. "Holographic indigenous camouflage protection."

"Just call it a cloak, Rip. Makes more sense and is a lot less bombastic." Len stops just behind him, eyeing the group with interest. "Well, isn't this an interesting lot."

He hears Rip sigh, but the other man doesn't even bother scolding.

"Stop looking at my crew like you're trying to decide who to seduce," he mutters, under his breath.

"Nah, I figured I'd just seduce all of 'em." Len tilts his head, trying to see if any of the group heard them. From their expressions, probably not. "Introduce me?"

Rip pinches his nose, but sighs and accedes.

"Ladies and gentleman, Time Master Captain Jack Tyler," he says with resignation, raising his voice and waving a hand. "A friend of mine."

"I thought you said they wouldn't help you." The assassin is staring at him. He grins at her. She rolls her eyes.

Rip catches the byplay and rolls his eyes too. "He's..."

"He's not they," Len interrupts. "I might sortof work for them, but I don't like the Time Council much. And the feeling's mutual." He shrugs. "Can't be here for everything, but I'll help when I can."

Another in the group—the inventor—opens his mouth to comment or ask a question, but Rip's already herding them toward the ship, and they go willingly enough. Well, Len can't blame them. He still remembers the first time he saw a time ship. (Granted, it'd been memorable, in part due to the abduction and nearly freezing-to-death part of it.)

He waits for the others to proceed onboard—lifting an eyebrow at how the professor has to get help with the unconscious kid-and then follows, smirking as he realizes that he's only a few paces behind the assassin. Sara Lance, he should use her name. He admires the view for a few moments, then catches up to walk beside her.

"Even if you're a broad-minded individual, this is a lot to take in," he drawls. "How are you doing?"

Suspicious blue eyes glance at him. She doesn't stop walking. "Why are you asking me?"

"You seem to be the only person on this boat who doesn't…" He pauses, choosing his words with a little more care than he'd originally planned. "…have powers or a dozen doctorate degrees."

Sara snorts, pausing to watch him. "Actually, I was dead for a year."

He knows that, actually—and it doesn't really contradict his observation. "Hey, I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Yeah, I can tell by the way you're staring at my ass." But there's a faint flash of humor in her eyes as she turns away-and granted, he had been staring at her ass. Len grins as he follows her, enjoying the view, but enjoying the banter even more.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

When they've all filtered onto the bridge area, though, he wanders away, needing to study the others in this so-called team they've created. The inventor is wide eyed, as is the professor. The kid is still unconscious, deposited in a jump seat, and, oh, there's certainly a story there. The hawks are inspecting the ship, too, and Len studies them, intrigued at this chance to see two of the characters in the nearly 4,000-year-old story he's been researching.

"Tyler, hmmm?"

At the amused voice, he turns, finally face to face with one of the few people he hadn't recommended for this team—someone he knows nothing about.

The third woman in the group is probably more striking than the other two, in purely aesthetic terms, a tall redhead with velvety, shrewd brown eyes and a lovely complexion that's a good bit darker than most redheads he's known. She's older, too, probably around his own chronological age, and damn if it doesn't look fine on her.

She's gorgeous, actually, and she exudes confidence, something that's usually an attraction for him. But Len dislikes her on sight, a feeling he doesn't even have a name for running down his spine, distrust and an odd recognition, and he has to force himself to give her a cool smile.

"Alexa Azeri," she says, smiling back at him, something just a touch predatory in that smile. "I'm a…shall we say, I'm an acquisitions expert."

Len nods to her, murmuring something vague. So, this is the criminal element that Rip had mentioned being uncertain of.

"And you?" he asks, looking at the big, scarred man next to Alexa, a man who hasn't uttered a word, the only other person here he knows nothing of. There's a weird pull there, too. Not an attraction—bruisers aren't his type—but a feeling like he should recognize the other man.

"He's just hired muscle," the woman interrupts, putting a hand on Len's arm. "My…bodyguard."

Len can't handle the familiarity. Or the attitude. He pointedly pulls his arm away and continues to focus on the big man.

"And you?" he asks the…bodyguard…again, pointedly.

The guy blinks, then glances at Alexa, whose face is now carefully blank. Then he looks back at Len.

"Mick," he says shortly, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Mick Rory. I…like she said. Bodyguard."

Len accepts it…for now. "Pleased to meet you, Mick," he says, pleasantly, ignoring Alexa's attempt to talk to him again as he turns away.

It's probably a mistake. But he hasn't survived this long as a Time Master by ignoring his instincts. And those instincts are screaming at him to stay the hell away from Alexa Azeri.

Rip's been holding forth, as he tends to do, and introducing most of the team to Gideon. Now, he's explaining how Savage's movements have been hidden in time, and detailing their first destination. Len, listening, nods at the mention of St. Roch.

"I'll meet you there," he cuts in as his friend pauses. "I need to check…stuff. I'll put the ship down near wherever I detect the Waverider."

"You have another ship?" the professor queries, interest in his tone. "Like this one?"

Well, Len can never resist a chance to brag about his ship. Not matter how much Rip laughs at him about it.

"Yes," he says, just a tad proudly as the other Time Master rolls his eyes, then decides to make a small verbal jab. "Well, faster. Smaller. Sleeker. Name's The Falcon."

"Falcon?" The inventor, Ray Palmer, perks up. "You mean like…?"

Len points at him. "Someone on this ship with some culture! Yes, just like." He looks pointedly at Rip. "See. Some people get it."

His friend gives him a weary look. "Are you quite done?"

"For now."

It's not that he doesn't trust Rip. He does, with his very life. But sometimes the man just doesn't…think.

(He conveniently ignores any number of ironies in that thought.)

It doesn't take long for Gabby to pull up information on both Alexa Azeri and Mick (Michael, actually) Rory. Len leans back and drums his fingers on the console, reading.

Aside from the very basics of family and origin, all of it unremarkable, almost all the information about the former involves her line of work. Alexa doesn't seem to have a set base of operations, although she's been associated with jobs in both Central and Star cities. Jewels seem to be her favorite, but technology is a very strong second. Her MO is all over the place, too…classic scams and cons, heists that rely on teamwork and skill, even the odd smash and grab.

One thing there's a steady string of, though, are fall guys, and girls. Oh, she has a rap sheet, an extensive one, and she's done time in fine institutions from juvenile hall right up to Iron Heights. But almost every time, there's someone else involved, someone on whom Alexa has promptly given evidence—in return for other considerations, of course. And at least a few times, her partners have wound up with a bad case of dead as she made off with the loot.

You'd think she'd have a hard time finding partners, after all this, but it seems there's always someone in line to buy her story, and promises of an easy payoff—and the assurance that she sees something in them, for whatever reason.

A user. He knows the type.

Lewis' face rises in his conscious memory for the first time in ages, and Len shakes his head roughly, willing the image away. His father is long since dead, having mouthed off to the wrong boss in Iron Heights after yet another heist gone wrong, and neither Len nor Lisa mourned him when they found out.

Oh, yes, he'll keep an eye on Alexa Azeri. If only because she brings up some bad memories.

Mick Rory is from Central City, and only a few years older than his own chronological age. Len sits forward, reading the file with interest. The few notes on speculated abuse raise the hairs on the backs of his arms—too many reminders of the past, too quickly—but he continues, taking in the tale of arson and juvie and all sorts of potential gone, the descent from petty theft into robbery and murder.

Because what else was there left, in a world that couldn't forgive a scared kid for one horrible, irreversible mistake?

Could have been him. Could have been him, so easily.

And if he's not wrong, reading between all these lines, Rory has a bit of a death wish, so much so that he's not sure how the man has stayed alive all these years.

There doesn't seem to be much connection to Azeri there, but Len's practiced eye notes a few instances where they've been in roughly the same place at the same time. Not long-time partners or anything like that. Perhaps it is as the woman says…he's hired muscle.

He's pretty sure it's not that simple.

Or innocent…at last on Azeri's part.

By the time he does this, follows the Waverider to 1975 St. Roch, and saunters back onto the bigger ship, the newbies have worked through their assorted issues with time-travel effects and are more or less sorted. The kid, Jefferson "call me Jax" Jackson, is awake and not happy with his Firestorm counterpart, and while Len can't really blame him, he knows they needed both halves of the superhero for the greatest effect.

He's not going to say that, though.

There's more friction between Rip and the team, too.

"You're benching us?

"This mission doesn't require your particular skill set."

"Meanin' you don't need anyone killed, maimed or robbed," Rory rumbles, then glances at Alexa as if worried she'll be annoyed he's speaking out of turn.

But the woman is focusing more on Len, now that she's noticed she's back on board, and he's just not sure he has it in him to be charming. He sidles, instead, toward Sara, who looks faintly amused.

"Sure it's a good idea to leave these two unsurprised on a time machine?" questions the inventor, Palmer, just a touch too loudly.

"Hey, haircut. Deafness wasn't one of the side effects," the big man rumbles, but he does it under his breath, and Len snorts in amusement. The other man glances at him, the corner of his mouth quirking up just a little. There's a moment, just a flicker, of connection.

Then Alexa's at Rory's side, whispering something in his ear, and the man's face goes blank again. Len fights back a moment of rage (he doesn't know what's being said, and his imagination might be overly active given what he's read of them), but before he can say anything, Rip's grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and dragging him over to a corner of the bridge, looking harried.

Granted, that's pretty normal for Rip.

"You'll stay?" his friend hisses, eyes pleading in a way that belies the almost aggressive tone of the words. "While we head for the university?"

Len blinks at him. "You mean, will I babysit them? Me? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No, actually, but…" The other man sighs. "You're going to say you told me so."

"I told you so. OK, now it's done with." He narrows his eyes. "What are you regretting already?"

"Ms. Azeri and her compatriot. I…" Rip sighs again as Len smirks at him. "OK, yes, yes, I should have stuck with your recommendations. But none of them with this…skill set…were as easily findable, and…"

Something about that seems off, but Len lets it go. "What about them? It's not like Gideon's going to let her get away with anything."

"I know." Rip eyes him. "Just see if you can find out a little more about them. And not just her. I didn't want the other man—Mr. Rory—on board at all, but she insisted she needed to bring 'muscle' and, frankly, the team could use that too. But I haven't been well pleased with what I've been able to learn."

Len shrugs, although he has every intention of learning more about them too. "Give the guy a break," he tells his friend. "Gotta feeling."

"The arsonist?" Rip blinks at him. "Are you serious?"

Len claps him on the shoulder as they turn back to the others. "Brother, we both entered the Refuge as petty thieves. Arson's the least of what we could have gotten up to if things had been different." He lowers his voice. "I'm more concerned about her."

Rip starts to retort, but then stops as Alexa moves toward them, interest sparking in her eyes at their quiet conversation.

"I'm more than happy to stay behind on this fascinating ship," she purrs, eyeing them both. "Could I, perhaps, get a tour? I'd really like to learn more...about your ship, too..."

Now she's looking right at Len—his brush-off from earlier apparently not having registered. He stares back at her, nonplussed, even as he senses Rip making a rapid escape with the hawks, Professor Stein and Palmer.

He's always erred on the side of charming everyone and letting things sort themselves out later, but apparently bluntness is the order of the day.

"Not interested in what you're selling," he tells her flatly, folding his arms, eyes cold. "You ain't my type."

Startled for just a moment, the redhead raises her eyebrows. Then she glances over at Rory and smiles before glancing back at him.

"Ah," she says knowingly. "You like men."

"Some men," Len agrees. "Some women. Not you. So, stop wasting your time and maybe we can manage a decent working dynamic."

Her eyes widen at his bluntness, a flash of something that might almost be hurt in them before they narrow again.

"Got it," she snaps back. "You don't know what you're missing. And you just might regret it at some point."

Len lets her have her comeback, watching as she turns on her heel and heads off. Then he sighs, leaning back against the wall and watching the kid—Jax—and Rory mess around with the viewscreen. (Although Rory's clearly wondering if he should follow his...whatever...)

"Think you might have irritated her."

He glances to the side, sees that Sara has wandered over to lean against the wall next to him. Her gaze is considering, and he bites back innuendo. Not the time. Unfortunately.

"You saw that, huh?" Len says instead, turning toward her a little. "Yeah, probably. But I don't like it when people treat other people like property," he says shortly, meeting her eyes. "I just…don't."

(The kids at the marketplace were screaming, crying, and he was supposed to just turn and walk back to his ship, leave the timeline as it was meant to be, ignore the cries...)

He ruthlessly pushes the memory of that mission back down again. There's a flash of understanding in Sara's eyes, though, and she merely nods, watching the other woman, who's moved to inspect the captain's console. After a moment, she sighs ruefully, muttering quietly, "I don't like this."

"Hmm?"

The gaze she darts at him has a hint of humor. "Oh, you know. The old trope that when there's more than one woman in a group, they always get all catty with each other and fight instead of backing each other up. I hate that. And she's gorgeous, so I sort of wish I felt differently, but…"

"Ah." Len considers. "Well, she's tripping every alarm bell I have, too. I don't know why." He shrugs it off, and grins at her. "If it makes you feel better, fight the trope. Make friends with bird girl."

Sara snorts, but nods. "I plan to. Although her boyfriend's an ass."

"He kinda is, isn't he?" He can't help but lean toward her, draw to her as much as…more than…he's repulsed by Alexa. "I've been looking into the whole Savage thing and everything else for Rip since…well…and not every incarnation's that bad. It seems to depend on…"

But Sara's eyes are considering again. Maybe a little wary. "So, you know all our backgrounds?"

Len considers prevarication, then goes with honesty. "Yeah. I recommended most of you." He tilts his head and gives her a look through his lashes, attempting to distract her. "Especially you. You're badass."

His admiring tone gets a smirk, quickly concealed. "And you're a flirt," she counters, watching him. "But…most of us?"

"Aaaaand you pay attention," he adds, not missing a beat. "I like that too." He sighs as she levels a glare at him. "I'm not sure where Rip got the idea for Redheaded Trouble over there, but not from me."

"And the 'hired muscle?'"

Something in her tone says she's sensed something off there, too. "I don't know him either." Len makes a quick decision. "But Rip wants me to find out more. And I don't get a good vibe out of whatever she's got on him."

"Hmmmm. And what do you have in mind?" Sara whispers back. But even as she asks the question, though, Len sees a flicker in her eyes, and leans forward, intrigued.

"What are you thinking?" he asks in a low tone.

She tells him. And Len leans back and stares at her.

"I like you," he tells her, utterly seriously. "I mean, I really like you."

Sara's lips twitch again. "I can't imagine Captain Hunter will be very happy about it."

"Well, Rip's not here." He smirks. "And I am. I say we do it. Gideon?"

The AI's tone is low and localized to the corner they're standing in, making Sara startle, just a tiny bit. "Yes, Captain Tyler?"

"Rip's got all his protocols with you locked down tight, right?"

"Of course. But I don't know that this is a good idea. Captain Hunter would probably not approve."

Eavesdropper, he mouths to Sara, then speaks aloud again. "As I said, Rip's not here. I am. We are." He nods to Sara, winking, and starts sauntering into the room, hands behind his back, thoroughly ignoring her, or appearing to.

After a few moments, he hears Sara speak.

"Am I the only one who could really use a drink?" she says, raising her voice just a little and sounding the perfect mix of bored and slightly exasperated.

Len hesitates a bare second, then spins on his heel theatrically and grins at her.

"Ex-cellent idea."

Who is gonna come and turn the tide? What's it gonna take to make a dream survive? Who's got the touch to calm the storm inside? Who's gonna save you?

[lovingnikiforov]

Trying this again (evidently I discovered a keyboard shortcut for posting earlier...fun). Tagged by @bandaged-chessmaster, thanks Annie!!

1. How did you come up with your username and what does it mean?

Ahh, I’m super melodramatic and I had a different AO3 account that some people (read as, my parents) found so I went: “no one will find this because I’m…..writing from the shadows.”

2. Which fanfic of yours has the most feedback? (bookmarks/subscriptions/hits/kudos)

Bookmarks-  Equivalent Exchange (144) Subscriptions- Equivalent Exchange (303) Hits-  Illustrations of Lying (6560) Kudos-  don’t you ever tame your demons (511)

3. What is your AO3 profile icon, and why did you choose it?

I wanted something that had a degree of personalization without actually being me in the icon so this is great because I’m also a black woman (and she’s hiding her face so it fits the melodrama I got going on).

4. Do you have any regular/favourite commenters?

!!! I have so many amazing commenters who I see on most of my fics (and yes I do remember your usernames). I’m actually working on an appreciation list for @ficwritersweek next week so stay posted!

5. Is there a fanfic that you keep going back to read again and again?

My all-time favorite fic is a HP fic called Cunning and Ambition. The writers went through and rewrote the first five HP books with Harry in Slytherin house. It’s technically unfinished because they didn’t write all seven books but….it’s so fucking good.

6. How many stories are you subscribed to? How many do you have bookmarked?

So many jfc. Can’t believe I have to count this and AO3 won’t tell me….I’m subscribed to 48 stories. I have 434 bookmarked.

7. Which AU do you find yourself writing the most?

Mafia Boss!Dazai…but is it really an AU or am I just predicting the future?

8. How many people are subscribed and bookmarked to you in total? (you can view this on the stats page)

Subscriptions: 113 Bookmarked: 816

9. Is there something you’d like to write about but are afraid of people judging you for it? (Feeling brave? If so, share it!)

🤔🤔 nope. 10. Is there anything you would like to be better at? Writing certain scenes or genres, replying to comments, updating better, etc.

Replying to comments!! I generally don’t reply because I never know what to say and then I feel bad bc people are so nice to me rip

11. Do you write rarepairs or popular ships more often?

Popular ships. Across the…6 or 7 (?) fandoms I’ve written for I think I’ve only ended up writing for a rarepair once. No that’s a lie, I just remembered I decided to pick up every single rarepair in one fandom and write for them all but that’s a long story.

12. How many stories have you posted on AO3 to this day (finished and unfinished)?

Across 2 AO3 accounts and fics I’ve orphaned….probably somewhere around 50.

13. How many stories do you have saved in/with your writing program?

In general...idk somewhere in the hundreds. In just my fic folder 56.

14. Do you write down story ideas, or just keep them in your head?

Write them down. I have story ideas just floating between so many notebooks it’s a mess.

15. Have you ever co-authored a story?

Once upon a time in an old fandom like 3 years ago.

16. How did you discover AO3?

I actually joined when it was first getting popular and the waiting list was intense. The buzz tugged me over there.

17. Do you consider yourself to be a popular or famous author in your fandom(s) on AO3?

In an old fandom, yes. In all the others, lol no. In yoi, no. In bsd......popular.

18. Do you have a nickname or fandom name for your readers?

Ahh, I just say ‘my readers’.

19. Was there an author who inspired or encouraged you to write?

No. I started writing fic before I had any idea what was going on.

20. What writing advice would you give to a beginning author?

Find a support group! Or a support person. Someone (or a group of someones) who you can bounce your ideas off of or can beta your fic and generally be encouraging. Writing is intimidating so finding people to help you get through it is key!

21. Do you plot out your stories, or do you just figure it out as you go?

Depends on the story. IoL and dyetyd were originally plotted out to the chapter but dyetyd decided it didn’t like that so I was changing things constantly. For Equivalent Exchange, I have a basic outline of ‘intro, rising action, climax, resolution’. And where your loyalties lie is just doing whatever the fuck it wants.

22. Have you ever gotten a bad comment on a story? If so, what did you do?

Way back in the day. I probably cried. 

23. Is there a certain type of scene that you have a hard time writing? (action, smut, etc..)

Fluff. My brain is hardwired to make my character suffer. Also smut is hard for me, it takes like 6x longer than the rest of the story to write.

24. What story(s) are you working on now?

Equivalent Exchange- viktuuri magic/fantasy!au where your loyalties lie- soukoku yakuza/arranged marriage!au Rent a (boy)Friend- phichuuri fake dating!au

25. Do you plan your next project(s) before you finish your current ongoing story(s)?

Sometimes. If an idea just grabs my by my face and says ‘you have to write me’ I might start planning immediately.

26. Do you have a daily writing goal set for yourself?

1k a day! 

27. Do you think you’ve improved as a writer since you first started?

Absolutely. The difference between my first fics and what I’ve written for bsd are night and day. Even within my bsd fics the difference between my earlier ones and newest ones are fairly stark.

28. What is your favorite story that you’ve written?

on cliff’s edge- It was fun! I wrote it as a stress reliever whenever I got stuck on dyetyd and I’m pleased with how it turned out.

29. What is your least favorite story that you’ve written?

Hmmm, I have stories I think I could have done better with but I won’t call anyone of them least favorites.

30. Where do you see yourself (as a writer) in 5 years?

Hopefully my novel will be done by then.

31. What is the easiest thing about writing?

Building intrigue. I’m really good at holding back information to the point where I have to go back and write in reveals sometimes because I’ll just instinctively skip them lol.

32. What is the hardest thing about writing?

Pacing. Making sure the plot and the characters are developing at a natural speed and that nothing feels rushed unnecessarily and nothing drags.

33. Why do you write?

Writing is 100% my passion, I could go on and on for days about how much I love to write. Being able to create people and their motivations and then weave an entire world around them is just so....mind-blowing, I can’t even articulate it.

Tagging: @aizawashoutah @goddamnitdazai @itsclowreedsfault and @fy-soukoku. Apologies if you’ve already been tagged! Unless you didn’t do it, in which case I take back my apology.

[writing-in-riverdale]

partner in crime | jughead jones x reader

request

written by: rosie

edited by: rosie

anonymous said: can you do a fic reader x jughead when the reader joins the serpents with/for jughead (to be with him and kinda keep him out of trouble?)? sorry if this has been requested before

chapter song: swish swish / katy perry

✘

i cuss slightly under my breathe as i mount my bike, i was a freaking southside serpent yet i was stuck baby sitting our newest recruit; the boss’ sixteen year old son.

i’d been working under FP since my father passed away, he was killed by the big c, cancer. i was sixteen scared, alone and fatherless.

so the serpents did what they do best, protect their own. so i became a serpent, serving loyally under the jones man as two long years passed.

ever since FP was thrown in jail i was left to babysit the newest snake, brining me to why i was cursing, what the boss says goes. leading me to where i am now, my bike.

there was something about riding around town, the wind in my hair as i zip around the small town, hands gripping onto the handles as i start my search.

i spot the brunette boy amongst the crowd of serpents pulled off the side of the road leaning against their bikes.

i grin, speeding toward them pulling up in front of the large group of leather clad boys. i dismount my bike pulling the helmet from my head, allowing my locks to flow down my back.

my boots crunch in the dirt as i approach, the group turning as i walk toward them.

“boys” i greet with a stern expression.

“jones lets go, now” i huff lowly ruffling my hair out

the group let out a low ‘oo’ sensing that the younger boy was in trouble if i was looking for him.

i was somewhat infamous in the southside of town, one of the most respected serpents -well- by the older serpents. the younger ones seemed to need more maturing.

constant snickers and whistles as they try and pick me up, it never worked. i was a cold hearted bitch, but it worked. you see you can’t have your heart broken if you don’t have one.

“and what if i say no?” he snickers crossing his arms across his broad chest.

“forsythe pendleton jones-” “the third” he corrects me triggering an eye roll.

“im under orders from your father, you need to go back to headquarters, let’s go” i push the helmet into his chest hard.

“you want me to ride on the back of your bike?- atleast buy me a drink first” he chuckles the whole gang laughing with him.

“i promise you jughead jones you don’t want to mess with me, your father is being released i need to get you back” i seethe my temper growing shorter by the second.

“my fathers getting release-d?” he’s voice picks up slightly before he lets out and low cough and clears his throats repeating the same words, stronger this time.

boys and this no emotion things was getting boring fast

“as much as i love riding around half the town because i was left to babysit a sixteen year old i actually have better things to do” i sass walking back over toward my bike.

i mount my bike slipping on my helmet as i glance back over to him “let’s go bad boy” i smile sarcasm oozing from my words.

the guys behind him rile him up, whispering god knows what into his ear.

my stare hardens as i watch his adam’s apple bop figuring out his next move before he walks over and secures his helmet before slipping onto the back of my bike.

and with one swift flick of the wrist we were hurling forward causing the boy to grab at your waist afraid he’d be sent hurling off the back.

“you’ve got a iron grip don’t you jones” i joke, his warm hands seemed to loosen but still sat on my waist, my skin pecking out from my jeans and my jacket.

we’re half way to the bar when my bike lights up, beeping like crazy, i hastily pull over the both of us hoping of the motorcycle.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” i cuss kicking the dirt as the engine light flashes, not enough water in the engine.

i bend over examining the bike when i catch the younger boy step back taking a long glance at what my ass looks like in my black denim jeans.

“jones” i warn fiddling with the bike hoping i could magically fix it and then get back to headquarters.

“im just enjoying the view” i don’t even have to see his face to know that the infamous jones smirk was plastered on his tan face.

i straight up lifting the bottom of my shirt up to dap the beads of sweat off my forehead, out of all the times my bike decides to brake down it chooses today.

the hottest day of the year and with the worst company i could dream of.

i pull my hair tie off my wrist throwing my hair up into a messy bun as i retrieve my phone from the back pockets leaning against the bike.

“no signal great” i cuss under my breathe as i slip the device back into my pocket.

i glance as jughead paces pulling out his own phone “good thing i have two bars hey?” i move away from the bike trying to grab the phone from his grasp.

“oh how the tables have turned” he smirks triumphantly

“just hurry up and call help im sweating” i complain removing my jacket and letting the small breeze relieve me ever so lightly.

he walks off exchanging a few words before walking back over to me, “helps on its way darling”.

i roll my eyes picking myself up off the floor dusting the dirt off my clothes “who’d you call?” i pause as the roar of engines flood my ears.

“you’ve got to be kidding me” i groan glancing as the horizon fills with 8 bikes- jughead posse from earlier.

i share a look of displeasure with the raven haired boy as he greets his friends mounting his own bike “my lady” he holds a hand out to me.

“what about my bike?! im not just leaving it here!” i argue looking wearily at the group.

“i called a tow, now c'mon we wouldn’t want to keep my father waiting would we” i roll my eyes walking over to the boy trapping his shoulder as i pull myself up.

“hold on” he whispers a shiver running up my spine as i wrap my arms reluctantly around the boys waist.

“i hope you know how to drive this thing” i huff as he flys forward, the others following behind us as we lurch toward the local bar we called home.

we come screeching to a halt outfront of the small car park, bikes littered the entrance.

i swiftly jump off the bike happy to be on the ground again, i swivel and punch the raven haired boy in the arm “drive like that agin when im on the back, ill kill you”.

he rolls his eyes placing his helmet on his bike.

“i think i did good -we- did good, we’re like-” he pauses his mind wondering “partners in crime” he sing songs a smile working it way onto his face.

i roll my eyes and turn to walk away when his hands clamps around my wrist and pulls me back forcing me against the warm bike, his body trapping me.

his hand jump from my wrist to my neck as he presses his rough lips on mine catching me completely off guard, im taken back at how good the boy kisses i let out a moan.

he smiles into this kiss and pulls me up by my thighs resting me own the bike as my legs snake around his torso. it’s like my mind shut off as i continue to make out with the younger boy.

something clicks and my hands are on his chest pushing him away breathless, you glance to see the older jones man standing outside the bad his arms crossed.

“son, y/n” he states a smirk on his lips, jughead turns and walks away heading over to his old man as he slings an arm around his son guiding him into the bar.

leaving me slumped against his bike my checks red and a knot in my stomach. what had i gotten myself into

tag list: @hauntedcherryblossompuppy @hauntedcherryblossombanana-blog @sadbreakfastclb @jugandbettsdetectiveagency @kindfloweroflove @fragilefrances @mydelightfulcollectiontyphoon @onceuponagladerhead @natalieroseg @sardonic-jug @hiimalyssawriter

[artificialqueens]

Katya (Trixya) pt 2/? - Skyline

AN: And we’re back with a new chapter! Thank you guys so much for the likes and asks, I really appreciate it :) Hope everyone had a fun NYE and New Years Day! For anyone asking about that Trixya NYE fic I wrote a month or so ago, Uhm I’m not sure If I should continue it? If anyone has any good ideas or suggestions for it let me know and hopefully I can come up with a few more chapters of it :P Anyways just a few clarifications before you read, the Dan in this chapter is not Danny from the First chapter. This Dan is Milk out of drag which is his real name so sorry for any confusion. And Katya’s husband will be none other than Bianca out of Drag (Roy) so there’s that too. Lots of drag queens will be mentioned in this Fic, most of them out of drag because theres only serveral woman roles in the movie. But if you know most of the Queens’ real names then you’ll be able to tell whose who. Also this might turn out a bit longer than expected because translating this movie into an actual piece of writing is taking a lot longer than I thought so yay for long chaptered fics! Any feedback will fuel my motivation to write so please leave some of your thoughts, crutiques and compliments if you like the fic :) Hope you all enjoy! Again feedback is loved and appreciated <3 - Skyline

Summary: Lesbian Trixya AU based off the incredible movie Carol, set in New York during the 50’s. Katya, a mother struggling through a messy divorce meets young, inexperienced Trixie at a department store and they hit it off.

             Trixie’s smile faded shortly after the older blonde was out of sight. Her gaze lingered as her mind swam with new thoughts and feelings she’d never experienced before. Attraction. To another woman? She suddenly felt almost wrong for having these very forward, risque thoughts. She immediately turned her attention to the store’s delivery reciept for her order. What was her name anyway? She thought, looking at the small slip of paper, scanning for the name. Hm. Katya. It was oddly fitting for the grand woman who grabbed ahold of her undivided attention just moments ago. She turned to place the reciept with all the others. Turning back towards all the chaos, her eyes honed in on the eccentric pair of red gloves Katya had left behind on the front counter. Oh no…                                                  ………………….

          Her shift was over. Boy had it been a long day. She headed towards the lockers as the alarm bells signifying the end of the work period rang powerfully through the store. She swung open her locker and stood there, eyes shut, waiting for the obnoxious blare of the ringing to stop. She opened her eyes as it stopped and snatched her santa hat off her now frizzy blonde hair and tossed it into the small square locker. At last she was free.                                                  …………………..

             Trixie sat on Matt’s lap, leaning her head on his shoulder as one of the newest films from hollywood played on the screen well a ways ahead of them. Jay, the reason they’re here in the projector room watching the film for free in the first place, glanced down at Dan with an annoyed expression on his face. Dan and Jay were brothers and Matt’s long-time Childhood friends. Jay worked at the Cinema, which was great for free unlimited movie watching. (If you liked watching movies from the small cramped projector room above the actual theater.) And Dan was an aspiring journalist who worked for the New York Times. He stared intently at the film, jotting down some notes, not noticing his head covering half the opening on the wall in front of them. “Move over! Nobody else can see the screen.” Jay nagged at Dan, cigarette hanging from his lips, to which Matt added, “Nobody else is watchin’!”

             He playfully squeezed Trixie’s sides causing a small gasp to escape her mouth along with a quick, “I’m watching!” She turned her attention back to the screen. Matt just laughed and snuggled closer into Trixie’s neck, placing small kisses to it through her hair. Dan spoke up, admitting it was his sixth time seeing the film. “Right now I’m charting the correlation between what the characters actually say and how they really feel.” Trixie just smiled and nodded pretending like she understood the words coming out of his mouth. Jay turned to them with an unamused stare, still puffing on his half-gone cigarette. “My kid brother, the movie jerk.” He smirked while Trixie and Matt chuckled, but stopped short not wanting to hurt Dan’s feelings. Behind her, Matt kept messing with her hair provoking Trixie to lightly elbow him in the arm. She could never pay attention when Matt was around distracting her. And as of late she couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.                                          ……………………..

                "I’m strictly a beer man, everything else makes me wanna vomit.“ Dan rambled on as the four of them sat at the bar in a dimly lit restaraunt down the street. Trixie giggled feeling the effects of the alcohol already, causing her to have little to no filter. "Well, wine makes me feel naughty, but in a good way.” She added not realizing her boldness before it left her red wine stained lips. Dan smiled widely at her as Matt went on about how he drinks to forget he has to get up for work in the morning. “Now see, thats your problem. You really oughta’ drink because you remember you have a job. Employments a curse.” Jay retorted, tilting his head back to down the rest of his beer. “You have a job, Jay.” Trixie recounted not really getting his point. “You call that a job? I call that an Illusion.” “You get paid.” Dan chimes in, “Is money an illusion?” he adds sarcasticly. “My kid brother, the jerk philosopher.” Everyone including Dan chuckle at Jays inside joke.

                "And Where do you work?“ Trixie asks Dan, it dawning on her that Matt never mentioned it. "Didn’t you know? Dannie here works at the New York Times.” Matt throws in realizing he never specified. “No Kidding!” Trixie loves that newspaper. It’s the best in the city. “Its a Job.” Dan says it with regret in his voice, but continues, “What I really wanna do is write. Thats why I watch movies.” It felt like the only person he was speaking to was Trixie considering he never took his eyes off her as he spoke. Trixie just smiled their gazes locked until Jay commented, “Everyone’s a writer.”

              "Say Trix, Before I get too drunk to remember…“ Jay handed her the small camera she had given him to fix a week or so ago. She gasped as she took her pride and joy into her hands. "You did it? Its fixed?” She grinned enthusiasticly turning it in her hands. “He said it was a cinch. No sweat.” Jay replied nonchalantly. “Oh, Thank you Jay. I was missing it.” Trixie continued to admire her camera when she felt Dans eyes on her. She peaked up at him and he remarked, “So you take pictures?” “Well..” she began when she was cut off by Matt. “She’s more excited about some chintzy camera than she is about sailing with me to Europe.” The boys shot in, “Women.” and “You said it, pal.” Trixie just glared at them and acted like she was going to snap candid photo’s of them to get revenge.

              The group walked out into the cold New York air. It was past midnight and all were wanting to get to their beds and pass out before another undoubtably long day at work. All walking in the same direction they passed a few friends, all drunk, and made small talk, Trixie promising to call her friend Dottie soon, before they were back on their route to home. Dan turned to Trixie, a small smile on his lips. “Say. You should come by the Times for dinner sometime. I work nights, so.. I got a pal whose a junior photo editor. He loves to Pontificate. I’ll introduce you.” “Really? Yeah. I’d like that.” She quickly looked over to her boyfriend and Jay who were messing around a few paces behind them. “Yeah?” she turns back to Dan. “Okay?” “Okay.” she replies. At her apartment, Trixie sits at the kitchen table while Matt snores the night away in her bed. With her head in her hands she looks down at the red gloves and delivery reciept she had swiped from work. If there was any possible way of seeing the vibrant Katya again, this would be it. She grabs an envelope from her kitchen drawer, slips the gloves inside and scrawls out Katya’s full name (What country is that last name from?) and address on the backside before sealing it up. She slips on her shoes and coat and scurries downstairs and across the street to the mailbox. Giving one last dwell on the situation she stops herself from thinking too hard and slips the envelope into the box. Jogging hurriedly across the street she makes her way back up to her apartment.                                              ……………………

               The mail truck stops right outside Katya and Roy’s luxurious suburb mansion in Long Island. Roy has his driver wait outside for him, promising he’ll be quick. He grabs the mail from the postman and thanks him quickly before entering their once shared home.

            Upstairs in her bedroom Katya and Violet are sitting in front of her Vanity, counting the brush strokes together as Katya combs out her daughters thick, long, black locks. “64…” Violet says in her sickenly sweet baby voice. “65” they say in unison and Violet contiues, “66, 67, 68..” They both hear Roy’s voice greeting the maid downstairs. “That must be your Daddy. Come on, better finish up.” She puts the brush down and combs through her baby’s hair wih her fingers, staring blankly out the window, waiting a bit anxiously for her husband to come upstairs. “Mommy, can you come skating, too?” Violet asks, her voice making Katya’s heart melt like a popsicle on the fourth of July. She looks at her baby’s pleading eyes and answers the only way she knows how to these days. “Oh I wish I could, sweet pea.” Her Four year old quick to respond asks, “Why not? Pretty Please?” Katya looks at the girl with sad eyes and kisses her forehead affectionately.

            "Hiya, Sunshine!“ Roy steps into the bedroom arms open ready to engulf his baby girl in a hug. Before he even gets close, Violet is blurting, "Daddy! I want mommy to come.” as she’s being picked up into Roys arms. “Oh, you do, do you?” He says as he swings Violet from side to side causing high pitched giggles to fill the room. Katya turns to look at the man she once loved so deeply. “You’re early.” she says simply, barely any expression on her symmetrical face. Roy just grins at her with their child in his arms then moves to throw the small pile of mail on the bed. “Mail came.” he says simply as well. And thats that.

        The three are sitting round the dining table, Violet on Roy’s lap scribbling away with her crayons on a coloring book. “Cy Harrison’s wife..” Roy begins but is quickly corrected by Katya, “Ginger.” Roy goes on, “Ginger asked about you.” “Did she?” nonchalant as can be. “I know she’d love to see you there..” He’s of course refering to the Christmas Party their friends host every year. This would be the first year Katya would not attend in over 6 years. She stares at him but his gaze is fixated on Violets coloring. “Well give her my best. I’ve always liked Ginger.” He looks up. Anger crosses his feature before he says a bit more sternly, “I’d like you to be there.” They stare at eachother challengingly for a few moments before Katya looks away. “Sorry, Roy. I have plans.” Violet stops her coloring upon hearing her parents speak. She sneakily adds, “Mommy wants to give Aunt Courtney some presents..” Roys face instantly hardens at the mention of Courtney’s name. He looks harshly at Katya before rubbing Violets back and softly says, “You’ve been seeing a lot of Aunt Courtney lately, haven’t you, Sunshine?” “Yes.” she repies sweetly. “With Mommy.”

          Katya shifts uncomfortably in her seat under his scrutinizing gaze. She looks up into his hurt eyes then back down quickly. “I’ll see if I can rearrange with Courtney.” Roy’s face immediately relaxes back to normal. “Thank you.” A small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. She returns with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her bewitching green eyes.

                                                    ………………..

           Trixie’s back at work a few days later, stupid santa hat in place on top of her shining, curly head. She’s in the shipping department at Frankenbergs talking with the head manager about Katya’s order. “Well I told the customer it would arrive by Christmas Eve. According to what we’ve been told, three days should be plenty of time..” She’s cut off by the shipping manager. “It should have been delivered this afternoon.” she pauses caught off guard by his swift answer. “—Oh.. Right, so it arrived, she signed for it?” “It arrived.” he says an almost annoyed tone to his words. “Oh okay, great. Thank you, Thanks.” She calls as she walks rapidly back to her department.

             Hours later she’s back to work, helping a woman with wrapping a doll box for her child. “Miss Mattel. MISS MATTEL?!” she hears from across the department and looks right into the eyes of her dreaded supervisor. “Over here. Now.” She shouts snapping her long witch-like fingers at her. Trixie apologizes to the customer saying she’ll just be a moment and hastily walks over to where her supervisor is with a phone in her hand. She hands Trixie the phone without a word and walks toward the customer in need. “Hello?” the operator immediately asks Trixie to identify herself as employee 645-A. She does and she’s informed she will be patched through to whoever is trying to get ahold of her at work.

              Trixie leans against the counter top finally hearing the noise that indicates the lines are now joined. “Hello?” “So it was you.” Trixie immediately recognizes the suave voice over the line. “Oh hello, Mrs. Zamolodchikova. Did you recieve the train set all right?” she plays it cool, her heart pounding out of her chest would be the only thing giving her away. Katya is in her kitchen slaving away at the stove with the phone between her shoulder and ear. A true vision of a housewife. “I did. Yes. And the gloves! Thank you so much, you’re a gem for sending them. I just wanted to say— thank you, really..” “Of course.” a small pause on both ends but Katya picks it right back up again only slightly stammering over her words. “Well–What I wanted to say was… do you get a lunch hour there? Well, let me take you to lunch. It’s the least I can do.” Trixie is beside herself. Is this really happening? “Well, yes I…” she trys to answer the first part of the question but goes straight into the second question. “Of course, but you really don’t have to.” “I’m free tomorrow.” Katya says immediately not taking no for an answer. “Tomorrow?” “Do you know Scotty’s on Madison?” Trixie thinks for a second then replies, “No, I don’t know it. Hold on.” She turns to her supervisor who eyes her suspiciously before Trixie asks, “Could I borrow a pencil and paper?” The woman reluntantly puts down the paper she was reading and scowls at Trixie as she hands her the items. “Thank you.” she says a little to annoyed and gets back on the phone. “Um, Alright. Whats the address?”